


Ugly Mirror

by Tagsit



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Dubious Consent, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-06-05 23:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15181577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagsit/pseuds/Tagsit
Summary: Canon Divergent starting with ep 2.16. Ethan’s pursuit of Justin might have seemed like a romantic meeting of two like-minded, artistic souls, but was it really? What if there was a more sinister motive behind Brian and Justin’s breakup?





	1. Unfamiliar Images

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated to all the survivors of narcissistic abuse who haven't yet found a voice of their own. TAG

 

Chapter 1 - Unfamiliar Images.

  


_“Who are you?” I ask the person in the mirror._

__

_I don’t recognize that man. He’s sad and dull and angry. He’s let himself go - his hair is untrimmed and dirty, he’s lost weight, there are bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, his skin is pocked with tension-induced acne, and even his fake smile is dull. He’s lost whatever sparkle he used to have. He looks defeated. He looks older than his years. Who is this person looking back at me from the ugly mirror?_

__

_I always thought I was smart. Not only am I naturally intelligent but I’ve had a good education. I thought I was too smart to become this person who’s now looking back at me from the mirror. How did I let this happen to me? Where did I go wrong?_

__

_I look back on the past few months and I can’t pinpoint when it happened. Everything I did seemed reasonable and rational at the time. I thought I was making the best decisions I could for myself, based on what was happening at the time, but seen in the aggregate, it’s horrifying. It’s like a death by a thousand cuts. And I was so busy worrying about each little injury, so laser focused on each tiny moment, that I never noticed how debased I had become._

__

_Without even noticing anything was wrong, I LET this happen to me._

__

_And now I feel like I have nothing left. I feel like I’m empty inside. I’m all used up and there will never again be anything worth loving inside this shell I call my body. What was the point again? Was there ever really a point? And, if this is all there is - all there can ever be, now that all I have is that ugly image staring back at me from the mirror - is there any point in going on?_

__

Looking back, I still can’t figure out when, exactly, things got so bad. Yeah, Brian and I had our problems from day one, but seen from the distance of time, none of it looks so bad now. Leaving him for Ethan was probably the worst mistake of my entire life.

Which really sucks, you know? I’m not even twenty-one and I’ve already ruined my life. But, for the life of me, I still can’t pinpoint how I let it get to this point. At the time, everything I did seemed perfectly reasonable. I felt like I was doing the right thing - leaving him - like it was the only thing I COULD do. And every choice after that was only an extension of that perilous decision. A reaction to that awful decision. The rub of it, though, was that I was so busy dealing with one thing after another, from that point on, that I didn’t have time to stop and look at the big picture. So I didn’t realize where I was heading until it was too late to stop the train wreck of my life.

And now it’s too late to take it all back.

I suppose it would be unfair to blame Lindsey and Mel for my downfall. How could they have known that taking me to that damned recital for my birthday would end so badly? They were only trying to do something nice for me. But, regardless, I find that I still harbor a vague, unreasonable, anger towards them both. If it weren’t for their interfering, I would never have met Ethan. I would never have started down this path that seems likely to end only in black emptiness.

The thing is, he can be so damn charming. When you first meet him, all you see is the glamour. The impish smile. The way he almost radiates self-confidence. He flirts with everyone and that first impression can take in almost anyone. It’s deceptively attractive. At least at first. At first, all you see is the image he wants you to see. It’s only after he’s roped you in that you begin to see cracks in the facade. But by then it’s too late and you’re trapped.

Okay, I admit I was a little pissed off about Brian refusing to celebrate my birthday, but it’s not like that was unexpected. He’d explained the year before, when I turned eighteen, that he didn’t do birthdays. He only celebrated achievements, not inconsequential dates on the calendar. And I agreed with him in principle. Hell, I hate parties. It’s not like Brian didn’t do tons of other shit for me all the rest of the year, right? The way he made such a big deal about announcing his anti-birthday philosophy to his friends, though, got to me a little.

Even so, I should have never said anything to Mel and Lindz. If I hadn’t brought it up the night they invited me over for dinner, they wouldn’t have guilted me into going with them to that damn violin recital. I still have no idea why I accepted. I’d never been into classical music. They insisted, though, and made me feel like I’d be an ungrateful churl if I said I wasn’t interested. Besides, I had nothing better to do. So I went.

And, afterwards, everything changed.

To be completely honest. I was totally bored out of my mind at the recital itself. I occupied myself with doodling on my program just to stay awake. Granted, Ethan did make a great subject. I was fascinated by trying to capture the enthusiasm he exuded as he played his violin. You could tell HE was totally into the performance - even more so than the music itself. He was hamming it up for his audience so much he managed to sell himself to pretty much everyone. Even me.

And, yeah, Ethan is physically attractive, so can you really blame me that I went up to talk to him after the concert? I was nineteen years old, horny as hell, and I’d just spent the last two years studying at the feet of the Master. Brian would have been disappointed in me if I hadn’t at least tried to pick up the guy.

“I just wanted to say, I thought you were great,” I lied, flashing him my best blue-eyed ingenue smile.

He demurely criticized his own performance, but did it in a way that made it sound almost like bragging. Like he knew even his worst was better than anyone else’s best. And the careless disdain he radiated made him seem even more confident.

“The Ravel was passable, but the Brahms was for shit.”

“I didn’t notice,” I admitted.

He glanced up at me as he spoke and I experienced the usual frisson of approval as he gave me the once over. I was used to that. My blond boytoy appearance is a perennial favorite among most gay men. So much so that I usually dismiss anyone who approaches me on that basis alone.

“Well, you should have. It was all your fault,” he turned it around on me so fast I was caught off guard.

“Me?”

“Yes. The way you were staring at me was very distracting,” he accused, looking and sounding so serious that I didn’t know what to think.

“I’m sorry,” I stuttered and started to turn away.

“Although, not necessarily in a bad way,” he relented, finally glancing up from the programs he’d been autographing to look me directly in the eye.

I realize now that he’d undoubtedly been truthful with me then. Ethan really does hate it if I draw while he’s playing. It makes him insanely angry. He says the constant *scritch, scritch* of my pencil against the paper throws off his rhythm. Personally, I think it’s more that he can’t stand it when he isn’t the direct focus of everyone’s attention. He wants his audiences to sit, mesmerized by his enormous talent, unable to look away. The fact that I dare to look away from him, even if it’s to draw HIM, is a personal affront to his ego. Of course I didn’t know that about him at the time. I mistakenly thought that was his way of flirting. I thought he was teasing me. Stupid me.

I had smiled at him and extended my hand, “I’m Justin.”

“Ethan.”

“I know,” I had responded, waving my program in his face.

Which is when Ethan noticed the drawings I’d been scribbling away at during his performance. Unfortunately, that’s probably what drew him towards me. He always was a collector of pretty things - both art and artists. Artwork that depicted him in such a flattering light was probably the most desirous thing he’d ever seen. It fed his already healthy ego. Of course, I was so eager for praise back then that I happily handed over the pictures I’d drawn, offering to let him keep them so he could use them for his next CD. He seemed thrilled by that idea. Why wouldn’t he be? Personalized art showing him at his utmost best - for someone like Ethan, there couldn’t possibly be anything more appealing.

That was likely the moment he decided to acquire me.

Ethan’s tone changed in a heartbeat and he instantly turned on the charm. “It’s ME in five variations . . .”

Before you knew it he was flirting with me. He finally smiled at me. He asked if I went to school at PIFA and seemed impressed that I was an artist. He acted interested in me.

I’m not sure why I was so flattered by his attention - it’s not like I hadn’t had plenty of guys salivating over me before, all those times Brian and I went to the club or the baths - but I think it was because Ethan started by asking about my art. It’s one thing to be appreciated for your mere looks, and something altogether different to be sought after for your talent. No other man had ever evinced any interest in me for my ART before. It was a new experience and I’m afraid I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

So much so that I started babbling like a nutcase. I told him about it being my birthday. I accepted the CD he gave me as a ‘present’. I blushed at him like a prepubescent girl. If Brian had been there he’d have declared me absolutely pathetic. Thank fuck somebody interrupted us right then, pulling Ethan away before I made a total fool of myself.

As I was walking away, though, I looked back at the violinist, and caught him staring after me with a hungry look. An acquisitive look. Like he wanted something from me. Of course, silly me, I thought he just wanted in my pants. In reality, though, I now know it was more. I’ve seen that look on his face many times since. That’s his calculating look. The one that means he’s trying to figure out how he can work a situation - or a person - to his advantage. It’s a look that means you have just been made a special target.

I should have run away then and never looked back.

But I didn’t know Ethan back then. I was so naive. So romantic. So trusting. So fucking stupid.

I went back to the loft after that damned recital and popped Ethan’s CD in the player as soon as I got home. I bragged to Brian about how cultured I now was - after one fucking concert, for crying out loud - and tried to rub his face in the fact that I’d had so much fun without him. Okay, yeah, I was totally being a brat just to get back at him for refusing to celebrate my birthday. But it would probably all have blown over if it hadn’t been for the fucking hustler.

Damn it! I was so fucking excited when Brian hinted he HAD actually gotten me something for my birthday after all. I think I even squealed with glee. I’m not sure what I imagined it might be. I would have been thrilled with anything Brian gave me. Literally ANYTHING. A shirt, some art supplies, a new pair of shoelaces . . . The mere fact he’d relented and got me something was a present in and of itself. But a fucking hustler?

So, yeah, the guy WAS hot and he did look a lot like that underwear model we’d seen on tv a few weeks back that both Brian and I had agreed we liked. The hustler was also hung. Under any other circumstances I would have jumped on the chance to fuck the guy. But not THAT day. Not on my birthday.

I was still a young, romantic fool back then. I suppose I had some ridiculous notion in my head that Brian would give me a sentimental little token of his esteem, take me out to an elegant restaurant where we would spend the night staring into each other’s eyes over a candlelit dinner, and then spirit me home so he could make love to me deep into the night. Yeah, right . . . What was I thinking? That soooooo isn’t Brian.

I certainly wasn’t thinking he’d hire me a hustler, though. Brian, however, is nothing if not practical and I can sorta understand why he might think a sex worker would make a good present. Kinda. Maybe, in another context, it actually might have been a good thing. If we were talking ‘bachelor party’, it would’ve been totally appropriate. Just not for my nineteenth birthday, okay?

I mean, I knew Brian cared about me - he showed me he cared all the time, even though he never said the words. I guess I should have been flattered that he listened to me and that he even remembered what I’d said about the damn underwear model. Hell, I should have just been glad he tried to celebrate my birthday at all, given his avowed dislike of the practice. But no, I had to get all pissy about it. I let it eat at me. I stewed silently over Brian’s lack of tact even while I fucked the damn hustler till he screamed.

I could always have told Brian, ‘No, thanks’. I could have tried to explain to him what I was feeling - how disappointed I was - but I didn’t. I didn’t want to confront him, but I could have simply walked away. Somehow, though, I felt like I’d be letting him down if I didn’t follow through and fuck the guy. It would be like rejecting Brian himself, and I could never say no to Brian. So, instead of that romantic dinner I had imagined, I spent my birthday rogering the underwear model hustler while Brian watched and jacked off. It wasn’t what I’d hoped for but, then again, it was very much something Brian and I would normally do. With the wisdom of time, I’m not sure what was so horrible about it, to be honest.

At the time, though, I was pretty pissed off. But it was a quiet kind of anger. A passive/aggressive anger. I never said a word to Brian. In fact, I never complained about it to anyone, per se. I merely made a snide comment or two to our family lesbians and then waited. I knew Brian would get chewed out by those two without me ever having to say a word. What exactly that would accomplish, though . . . Well, I guess I didn’t think it through that far. It was mean of me; I realize that now. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone else if I wasn’t going to be mature enough to actually talk to Brian directly. What can I say? I was a fucking idiot.

I was still silently simmering about the Birthday Blunder a week later when a friend of mine at PIFA came up to me while I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and told me Ethan had been asking around about me. Paul, my friend, told me that ‘some music guy’ had been looking for me. The way Paul talked, he made it sound like Ethan had a crush on me or something. He relayed the fact that Ethan had complimented my art, telling those he’d spoken to about my ‘amazing’ drawings at the recital. Again, I was flattered. And because I was still being a petulant little brat, I suppose I welcomed Ethan’s interest in me more than I would at another time. In my mind I was thumbing my nose and taunting, ‘see, Brian, at least SOMEONE appreciates me!’

Just to prove how much of a brat I was, I made a point of detouring through the music building after I finished my last class that afternoon. And, as my always bad luck would have it, I just happened to find Ethan in one of the practice rooms. I still have no idea what I was thinking. Maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. Ethan certainly seemed thrilled to see me, though, so I quashed all my misgivings as I walked into the room to meet my fate.

Ethan immediately turned on the metaphorical heat, coming onto me so strong it would have been laughable except for the mood I was in. “Maybe things will warm up now that you’re here,” he simpered, giving me the old elevator eyes as he spoke.

I remember I mumbled an excuse for why I’d shown up unannounced. Ethan just continued to leer at me with that charming hipster half-smile of his. Fuck, I must have looked like a total fool as I prattled on about how much I’d liked his CD. Being Ethan, though, he gladly accepted my praise.

“You’re incredible,” I offered.

“I know,” he replied without even a hint of coyness, like the approbation was his due.

And then, just to be perverse I guess, I tattled about how ‘my boyfriend’ hadn’t done anything for my birthday.

Which just set Ethan up for his next volley. “That sucks . . . I mean that you have a boyfriend,” he teased me. “Because, if I was your boyfriend I’d give you a birthday you’d never forget. First, I’d bring you breakfast in bed,” he promised, never letting go of my direct gaze. “And then I’d play for you . . . One of Ravel’s ‘Valse Noble et Sentimentales’. Because that’s how I picture you; noble and sentimental. And then we’d make love a couple hundred times . . .”

Even knowing Ethan as well as I do now, I have no idea how he gauged me so accurately that afternoon. It’s like he could read my thoughts, word for word, right out of my brain. Because those were the precise words that were needed right then to win me over. I’d been moping around, feeling sorry for myself and wishing Brian were just the tiniest little bit romantic, and in walks this cute young musician, playing passionate violin music, telling me how fucking ‘noble’ I was, and offering to ‘make love’ to me. Did I have the words ‘Sentimental Fool’ stamped on my forehead in indelible ink or something? I mean, yeah, Ethan has always been good at reading people and using their emotions to manipulate them, but did I have to make it so easy for him?

He had me from that moment on. It was only a matter of time. He’d played me just as masterfully as the violin he strummed to the ticking of the metronome in that practice room. I didn’t see it for another few weeks, of course, but my capitulation was already a foregone conclusion.

 

Because when Ethan wants something, he ALWAYS gets it, and right then, he wanted me.

 


	2. Contagion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are thoughts contagious? Enjoy! TAG

 

Chapter 2 - 

 

_ I’ve often wondered whether or not thoughts are infectious. Because, just like other diseases, sometimes it seems like you can catch a thought or emotion from someone else and then can’t get rid of it. And once you’re infected by that random thought, it can ruin your entire life. _

 

_ In my case, I had been infected by romanticism. The symptoms came on fast, reaching maximum viral load within seconds after my meeting with Ethan that day in the music building at PIFA. I had a really bad case, too. I was practically drowning in it. I couldn’t think straight because everything I saw, heard, or felt was filtered through the lens of my affliction. I weighed everything I did, and everything others around me did as well, by how romantic or unromantic it was.  _

 

_ Before that day, I wouldn’t have described myself as particularly romantic. I’d always considered myself quite practical. It wasn’t that I was opposed to a little romance, but I’d never longed for it the way I did after I was infected by Ethan. Before, I had just focused on what I knew I wanted, worked out a logical way to get it, and did what had to be done to reach my goal.  _

 

_ My goal, from the very first night I ventured out onto Liberty Avenue, had always been Brian Kinney. And I had attained that goal though steady persistence. I knew from day one that Brian wasn’t the romantic type, but that didn’t matter because I’d wanted him a lot more than I wanted any sentimental bull shit romance. Only, after Ethan infected me with the IDEA of romance, I totally lost sight of my prior goals. After that, I wanted to force my acquired romance on Brian too. _

 

_ Now, when I look back on that time, I can see exactly how sick I was. How I let the ideal of romantic love warp my thoughts. And for what? I now know beyond a shadow of a doubt that romance is a huge healing pile of bull shit. Yeah, I’m cured of my romance infection. The cure was a bitch, though, and has left me permanently damaged.  _

 

_ At least I’m now immune from any subsequent infections of romance. Or any other emotion, for that matter. Now I just feel numb and empty. I wonder if I’ll ever heal enough to feel anything again? _

  
  


*****

 

After meeting Ethan that day in the Music Building at PIFA, I tried to forget about him. I really did. I redoubled my efforts to engage Brian in our relationship. I started pushing for more, even though I knew it was probably futile. But I was just so hungry for . . . What? Acknowledgment? Romance? Love? . . . Whatever it was, I felt I needed it so badly I was willing to finally speak up and challenge Brian. But, as expected, my emotionally stunted lover fought me every step of the way. 

 

I started off by guilting him into agreeing to a snowboarding vacation in Vermont. I was actually surprised by how easily he capitulated. To be honest, I think Brian was almost as excited by the prospect of going away together for a week as I was. But, like everything else in that doomed relationship, our good intentions were scuttled by outside forces. Brian’s boss sold the advertising agency to Gardner Vance and his job was put at risk. 

 

It's understandable that I was disappointed when Brian backed out of our trip in order to focus on work but I don’t know why I was acting like such a spoiled brat. I mean, on some level, I understood the seriousness of the situation. Brian’s job - his financial success - has always meant a lot to him. It’s how he measures his self-worth. But I was blinded by my own selfishness and need for attention so, instead of being supportive of my stressed out partner, I pouted and complained to all our friends. 

 

“Anything’s possible . . . Except Brian and I spending any time together,” I sniped to Michael one afternoon as we went over plans for our comic book. 

 

Of course Michael immediately defended his best friend, pointing out how hard Brian worked, how tough the merger was for him, and advising that I just needed to give him time. 

 

“What about me? Where do I fit in?” I interrupted him snottily. Michael sat there mute, which only made me angrier. “I don’t want to wait. I want a boyfriend who only wants to be with me. Who wants to stay home every once in a while. Who at least gets jealous when some other guy is sucking my dick right in front of him.”

 

“That’s not Brian,” Michael, aka Captain Obvious, pointed out. But it was the next comment that really got to me, “it never will be.”

 

He was right too. Brian will never be anyone’s romantic ‘Knight in Shining Armor’. That’s not how Brian is. But, at the time, I was so caught up in my pursuit of romance that I didn’t stop to consider any of Brian’s other admirable qualities. I was blinded by my unrealistic, childish fantasies. And I was devastated by the thought that I’d never get what I THOUGHT I needed from the man I called my boyfriend.

 

So, when I - not unexpectedly - got no real sympathy from my friends, I acted out even more, going to Vermont without Brian just to spite him. Maybe I still harbored some romantic fantasy that Brian would come running after me, beg my forgiveness, and then spend the rest of the week demonstrating how sorry he was by indulging my every sexual whim. Of course that’s not Brian either. What did I expect? I was well aware of his rule about never running after anyone. So I spent my weekend alone, sulking, and not really enjoying myself despite my wintery wonderland surroundings. 

 

I didn’t find out till much later how close Brian had come to losing his job, or that he’d come looking for me when he returned from Chicago so I’d be the first to hear the news that he made partner. If it weren’t for Michael cornering me upon my return, berating me about how I’d hurt Brian’s feelings by going on vacation without him, I might never have known. Brian never said a word to me about it at all. But that was to be expected; Brian doesn’t do explanations. So, instead of clearing the air by talking it out, we both remained silent, all our individual insecurities and petty animosities simmering in the background.  

 

It didn’t help matters much, either, that upon my return I walked in on Brian fucking some trick in our bed.

 

“You’re back,” was all the greeting I got as Brian anchored himself against the trick’s hips, enabling him to sink even deeper into the man’s ass. 

 

“You noticed,” I replied, ignoring the groaning coming from the trick as I went about my business unpacking my duffle bag.

 

Brian didn’t miss a single beat in his fucking.

 

Needless to say, this gave Ethan plenty of fertile ground in which to plant the seeds of his seduction campaign. And, of course, he just happened to be performing on a street corner located along my usual path to school the very next day, ready to plant that seed. I’m still not sure if that was just a coincidence or if he’d somehow manipulated the events to arrange a meeting. It wouldn’t have been that difficult for him to figure out which route I usually followed or what classes I was taking and when. Neither would it be at all out of character for Ethan to arrange such a meeting, all the while making it appear a fortuitous happenstance. I’ve since seen him finagle much more elaborate ruses to get to people he wanted to meet for one reason or another. Looking back at that day, and judging by some of the things Ethan said, I’m pretty sure he’d checked me out beforehand. But, at the time, I felt like it was fate trying to send me a message. 

 

Daphne had been with me that afternoon. She was playing the patient friend, listening to me bitch about Brian bugging out on our vacation. I’d just confessed to her how I’d waited for him to show up, or at least call, all week long. That’s when I picked up the first notes of Ethan’s violin. Even after all these months of living with Ethan, I’m still hopeless when it comes to being able to differentiate one classical piece from another, so I couldn’t tell you the name of the song he was playing. All I knew at the time was that it was a beautiful, emotionally stirring piece. And, of course, Ethan looked like the quintessential ‘starving artist’ standing there on the corner in his worn jacket and those ratty fingerless gloves, playing his heart out for the few coppers thrown into his violin case. Could there possibly be a more romantic image?

 

Ethan never looked up while he was playing, even though it should’ve been impossible for him to miss the fact that I was standing just a few feet away from him. When he’d finished, I clapped along with the others watching. But it wasn’t till I shouted ‘Bravo’ that he deigned to turn my way and acknowledge my presence with a smile. 

 

Fuck he was suave. He played his part almost as well as he plays his violin. He smiled that quirky smile and looked up at me from under his lashes with those big, dark, soulful eyes of his. He was dressed casually, looking a bit threadbare, but that only enhanced his image as a tortured artist. His curly dark hair was wind blown and messy. I wasn’t sure about the hip little soul patch on his chin, but it seemed to fit the persona he was trying to project. Altogether, Ethan looked like the complete antithesis of Brian Kinney; casual, messy and unrestrained as opposed to neat, collected and controlled. I think it was that contrast, as much as anything else, that attracted me to him right then.

 

Ethan immediately started flirting with me but he wasn’t at all aggressive about it. If he’d pushed himself at me, I’d have run for sure. No, instead, he drew me in by making me work for it, showing just enough interest to keep my attention but acting like he respected my boundaries. I was intrigued, not to mention still smarting about Brian’s seeming disdain, so I flirted back. Rather blatantly, actually. 

 

“Why are you playing on a street corner,” I asked as he collected praise and tips from his audience. 

 

That was the first time he lied to me, although I didn’t find out the truth for months afterwards. “I need the cash,” he explained with a self-deprecating grin.

 

I chuckled, “there’s gotta he an easier way.”

 

“Well, yeah, I guess I could always be a go-go boy,” Ethan teased, pretending to do a little bump and grind dance for me as an example.

 

It struck me as odd that he’d comment on that particular choice of alternate employment, but I didn’t say anything other than to demure, “I wouldn’t recommend that.”

 

“Then I’ll stick to the fiddle,” he agreed. 

 

I probably should have gone then, when it seemed like there was a natural break in the conversation. I really meant to politely end the discussion and take my leave. I remember I’d had some reading I needed to finish up for my next class and was already  thinking about that assignment as we chatted. Besides, flirting was one thing, but even though I mad at Brian I’d never intended to take things further. That’s when Ethan started bragging about how talented he was, counting out his tips for the day and packing up his instrument, and adding a comment that caught my attention. 

 

“Eighty buck. Not too bad,” he stated with a satisfied smirk, “you know, considering it’s not really ME playing.”

 

That odd, incongruous statement had me confused and forced me to take another look at him.

 

Ethan strode over till he was standing well within my personal space, a serious look on his handsome features, and declared, “it comes through me, from someplace else.”

 

“It’s amazing that you said that,” I replied, looking into his intense eyes. “When I draw, it feels the same way.”

 

We stood there in the cold, ignoring all the people rushing by us on the sidewalk, for another couple heartbeats, simply staring into each other’s eyes. I don’t know what I thought I was seeing. A kindred spirit? A fellow artist who could empathize with my creative heart? A possible alternative path? 

 

Fuck, I was such a fool. 

 

Maybe I shouldn’t beat myself up about how easily I fell prey to Ethan’s machinations. There’s no denying that he can be charming as fuck when he wants to be. Brian later taunted me, asking if I’d been the poor helpless victim of a ‘love bashing’, and of course I denied it. But maybe that’s what it really was. It almost felt like it at the time. I was completely taken in at that moment by Ethan’s mythos. I only saw the lonely, sensitive artist who was desperately looking for a someone to love and understand him. I was overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated romanticism of him. He was showing me exactly what I wanted to see. How could the innocent, naive boy I was then have ever been expected to see beyond the facade? 

 

But Ethan’s campaign to win me didn’t stop there, either. Before I could recollect myself and get away, he’d roped me into helping liberate a beat up old sofa saved from a garbage truck. I readily agreed to lend a hand, carrying it three blocks and up four flights of stairs to his tiny studio apartment. 

 

If anything, the grungy little hole-in-the-wall enhanced Ethan’s starving artist image even better than the rumpled clothing had. The apartment came complete with peeling paint, broken down furniture, and the stench of over-cooked cabbage wafting up from a downstairs neighbor. It was a horrible, dirty, dump. And it was exactly what I’d always imagined the artists’ garretts of the French Impressionists to be like. So, of course I was immediately charmed. The sweet pussy cat that came with the apartment was an additional selling point. 

 

Is it any wonder I felt so comfortable there? Comfortable enough to plop right down on that torn up old sofa and start babbling to this virtual stranger all about Brian. Which, now that I think about it, was totally strange and out of character for me. Brian and I had always had this unspoken agreement that our relationship was private. We didn’t talk about ourselves to others. With the exception of Daphne - who’d been my confident from the day we met in Kindergarten - I didn’t really tell even my friends much about my life with The Stud. I know Brian was the same. Oh, he might brag to the gang about fucking me, or some juicy three-way we’d had, but he’d never tell anyone about the real stuff. The emotional stuff. That was only for us. Neither of us ever said anything about our rather unique arrangement to strangers, though. Yet, here I was, with someone I barely knew, blabbing about my ‘older’ boyfriend and his expensive loft and how he didn’t want to celebrate my birthday and would never think of getting a pet . . . 

 

Did I mention how charming Ethan could be? 

 

It wasn’t till Ethan pushed it just a little too far - lavishing me with an almost jealous-sounding compliment about how Brian was lucky to have such beautiful things around him - that I realized what I’d been doing and stopped. That comment struck me as odd when I later thought about it. It seemed to equate me to just another of Brian’s expensive possessions. And the enviousness of Ethan’s tone was telling. It was almost like he wanted to possess me too. But those insights didn’t come to me for several weeks and, at the time, all I heard was another man calling me ‘beautiful’. 

 

That over-the-top complement, however, was enough to prompt me to get up off Ethan’s newly rescued couch and get the hell out of there. Ethan must have realized his mistake because he became instantly contrite and resumed his mask of undemanding, slightly-nerdy artist, who was too awkward to know what to say. And I bought it, of course. He fumbled around for words as I made my way to his door, acting sheepish, and it was such a good performance that I found myself feeling a bit sorry for him. So, to throw the poor boy a bone, instead of just high-tailing it out of there I invited him to come to the Student Art Fair to see my work. In other words, I played right into his hand by leaving him that huge opening, which I now regret so badly.

 

If Brian hadn’t also been going through a ton of shit at work just then, the whole minor flirtation with Ethan would probably have blown over and been forgotten. But, after leaving Ethan’s apartment that afternoon, I came home to a grouchy, stressed out Brian, who was too caught up in his own drama to spare a thought for mine. He was too busy mumbling about some steakhouse account to talk about Vermont. And, in typical, snarky, Brian Kinney fashion, he teased me about my own pouting. It was so dismissive and so infuriating. Such a contrast to the time I’d spent with Ethan, where I’d felt like I was the focus of his attention. And, yeah, I knew that Brian was under a lot of pressure at work, but at the time I didn’t care. I wanted him to see ME. Pay attention to ME. ME, ME, ME. Like some two year old having a tantrum. 

 

When I finally did get his attention, though, it still didn’t feel like it was enough. He wouldn’t give me the words I wanted. He refused to say he’d missed me while I was in Vermont. He refused to admit that he even cared that I’d gone without him. All he wanted from me, it seemed, was easy access to my ass. So, after he pressed me up against the support beam and fucked me from behind, I came away feeling used rather than wanted. It was the first time I’d ever felt that way after sex with Brian and it left me uneasy and borderline desperate. It made me want proof of his love even more than before. I was too much of a coward to say anything to him though, and Brian had other things to think about than his insecure teenage lover, so I stayed silent and let my disquiet fester. 

 

And all the while, Ethan pressed on with his all out assault on my romantic little heart. He started showing up wherever I went all over campus? I saw him a couple times in the school cafeteria. He showed up almost daily along my route to and from school in his street performer role. I even thought I caught a glimpse of him one time at Woody’s - but seeing as Brian was with me that night, it’s not a surprise he didn’t approach me. Each time I did speak to him, though, Ethan abounded in praise for me and my art. 

 

He also came to the Student Art Fair, of course, and gushed over the paintings I had on display. He smoldered at me. He called me ‘brilliant’ and intimated my work should sell for millions. He looked at me with such intensity that it felt like I was the center of the fucking universe. It was heady stuff for a kid who wanted nothing more than to be someone’s focus. Preferably Brian’s, but if Brian was too busy or distracted, I wasn’t going to be picky. When Ethan offered to buy one of my pieces, I impulsively answered that he could ‘have it for a song’, and he immediately jumped on the opening to invite me to come to his place to collect my payment.

 

I knew what I was doing was wrong. Despite having an ‘open’ relationship, Brian and I did have rules. Yeah, we could see anyone we wanted as long as it wasn’t the same guy twice, but we weren’t supposed to be messing around with anyone we knew. We’d agreed to ‘no names and no numbers’ to protect against just that. The idea had always been that fucking was just fucking and it didn’t mean anything. But what I was starting with Ethan clearly violated the spirit of those rules even before I let it get beyond the flirting stage. Because I was already starting to feel something for Ethan. This thing I was doing meant something to me. The intimacy of it, the fact that we were sharing something more than just our bodies, was what made it cheating. 

 

And I knew it right from the start. But I was young and stupid and angry at Brian and hungry for attention . . . 

 

So I went over to Ethan’s apartment after the Fair. We sat on the floor, ate bread, cheese and fruit, while drinking cheap red wine. Ethan lit a candle. We talked about our lives, our art and our families. Ethan told me a story about his how his grandfather had survived Auschwitz. It was the epitome of romanticness. And it felt so good. So different. Because it was everything that Brian would never do. Brian hated to talk about his family, probably because he didn’t have any happy stories to tell. Brian would never have ruined his diet with a bunch of high calorie foods. He wouldn’t be caught dead in a dump like Ethan’s garrett. I, however, lapped it up. I told Ethan things I’d never told anyone before - not even Brian - including how my art was my one safe place. Ethan not only listened but he echoed my sentiments. He said exactly what I wanted to hear. It wasn’t surprising I fell for it.

 

All the while, though, Ethan was simply playing with me. I know this now, even though I was blind to it at the time. He is the consummate manipulator. If I’d looked hard enough I would have seen the way he strung me along. The way he told me exactly what I wanted to hear. The way he skillfully maneuvered the conversation around to the topics he wanted to delve into . . . Namely, my boyfriend; a topic he came back to again and again. And once he’d got me talking about it, he gave his most impressive performance to date.

 

“There was this guy,” he began, “and I was so fucking crazy about him . . . I can’t explain it.”

 

“You don’t have to,” I assured him, because I knew about crazy love.

 

“We were together for about a year,” Ethan continued, his story eerily mirroring my own in a way I didn’t think about until later. “But he liked to go to the clubs and party and bring guys home. And, for a while, I have to admit it was pretty exciting.”

 

“I suppose it can be,” I grudgingly admitted.

 

Then he hit me with the clincher. “But then I realized that’s not what I want.” 

 

“What DO you want?” I felt compelled to ask.

 

He looked longingly up at me with his deep brown eyes and assumed a wistful expression, then answered with a defiance and earnestness that struck home. “I want to be with somebody who only wants to be with me. Who doesn’t need to see other people. Or be in the scene every night. I want to be with somebody I can have a picnic on the floor with, and tell things to that I’ve never told anybody.”

 

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? Ethan had managed to tap into my deepest, most cherished longings. At the time it felt like I’d found the only person who completely understood me. 

 

I totally bought it. 

 

What I should have done was to run out of there screaming and never look back. Unfortunately, I was too stupid or too bewitched to realize the import of Ethan using those exact words. Hell, he was practically repeating, word for word, what I’d told Michael just a week or so earlier. I still don’t know how he found out about my little speech to Michael, although, knowing ‘Brian’s Best Friend’ I suppose it’s not hard to figure out. Michael’s inability to keep a secret and his penchant for spouting off - at the top of his lungs, in public, about pretty much everything - is the stuff of legend. I suspect all Ethan had to do was hang out in the Diner or Woody’s for a couple hours when Michael was there and he’d come away with all the personal information about me he needed to enact his plan. Now, when I look back on that moment, I find it incredibly creepy, but back then I was so blinded by all the flattery Ethan had thrown at me that I didn’t see it. 

 

However, those words stuck with me for days afterwards. They haunted me. They infected me. And even though I tried to fight it, I couldn’t escape the draw of those romantic words. I still loved Brian - I’ve never stopped loving Brian, actually - but I loved the IDEA of Ethan too. So I tried to impose all those sentimental ideas onto my older, set-in-his-ways lover. I wanted Brian to be Brian but, at the same time, I wanted him to be something else. Something more like the Fantasy Brian I had built up in my head. It was an endeavor that was doomed to fail, of course, but I simply couldn’t help myself.

 

That night I tried to entice Brian into staying home with me and indulging in a reprise of the floor picnic scene. Not surprisingly, Brian wasn’t interested. Even more predictably, the more I tried to push him to do romantic things, the more he pushed back by becoming even more of a club boy. And the gap between us widened, the unspoken resentments suppurated, the emotional estrangement deepened. No wonder Ethan was able to just waltz in and take what he wanted.

 

One night I just couldn’t take it anymore. Brian had blown me off yet again, insisting that I go with him to the baths to celebrate some new account he’d won. When I’d declined, he left me with merely a shrug and a fleeting kiss to my forehead. It was like he didn’t care at all about me or what I did. It seemed to me like he always had time for his other friends and their problems, but couldn’t bear to spend one night alone in our home with me. So, as soon as Brian had left the loft, I ran out of there, heading straight for Ethan’s and what I thought was the love that I was missing. 

 

When I arrived, I interrupted Ethan practicing, but for once he quashed his irritation and gave me his full attention. 

 

“I came for my song,” I told him, offering up a nervous smile.

 

A smile of conquest bloomed across his face. “Right. Right, so what would you like to hear?” he asked jubilantly. “Something technically astonishing?”

 

I settled into a corner of the sofa, anxiously pulling a pillow into my lap as some sort of shield, and admitted that I’d prefer, “something astonishingly romantic,” instead.

 

Ethan looked down at me from where he was standing atop the platform of his bed, an exultant smirk on his lips as he raised his violin and began to play ‘Meditation From Thais’. It was perfect. Exactly what I had come to find. The sweet, slow, melodic notes rained down on me from the heights Ethan had assumed and I soaked it all in. I closed my eyes and let the music fill me. I could feel the romance of it percolating up through my body. I thought for a moment that I’d never heard anything more beautiful. It called to me. I almost felt like crying. Crying for whatever it was that I might have had with Brian and the relationship I knew I was probably throwing away with my actions that night.

 

But it was already too late to back out, it seemed. I had already cheated on Brian in my heart. I might as well go all the way and make it a fait accompli, right? 

 

I rose from the couch and slowly padded across the small room till I was standing directly in front of Ethan. I tamped down the tears that were trying to escape and focused only on the musician playing to me. I stepped up on the bed, coming to a halt when I was only millimeters from him. Ethan stopped playing and put his violin down on the bed. Then he slowly leaned closer and closer till our lips met. 

 

I knew in that instant that I’d ruined anything I had with Brian. The ‘no kissing’ rule was probably the most sacrosanct of all. I’d only broken it once before - kissing a guy whose virginity I’d taken, but that was only because I felt sorry for the poor kid and didn’t want him to have bad memories of his first time - and, as far as I knew, Brian had never broken it at all. Now, though, I was kissing another man with intent. I meant to kiss Ethan. And this kiss wasn’t just a random, meaningless thing; it was an outright act of betrayal. I knew that at the time and I did it anyway. 

 

There’s no doubt I deserve everything that’s happened to me since then. I should never have cheated on Brian like that. He’s a good man, no matter how flawed or tortured, and I know he used to care for me. I shouldn’t have betrayed him like that. 

 

With that one kiss I forfeited his love and don’t deserve to ever be redeemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/6/18 - Didn't anyone else ever find it creepy that Ethan parroted the exact same words Justin had used when talking to Michael...? How did he know to say THOSE words? I thought it was just plain weird. TAG


	3. Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin is falling deeper under Ethan's control... Enjoy! TAG

  
  


Chapter 3 - Falling.

 

_ Why me? What did I ever do that was so bad it would justify the treatment I’ve been subjected to? I know I’ve been selfish and stupid, but I never meant to hurt anyone. All I ever wanted to do was find someone who could love me. Is that so bad? _

 

_ Or maybe that’s the reason behind all this; the mere fact that I was so desperate for love.  _

_ I can see how my longing for attention would make me particularly vulnerable to someone like Ethan. I’ve always been the sensitive, kind, dedicated type. I was the kid who would bring injured animals to my mother, begging her to make them well. I was the youth who would always step up and be the first one to make friends with the new kid in school. I was the young man who continued to love his disapproving father even after the man turned his back on me. I’ve always had this bottomless capacity for love but struggled to find something or someone to return my sentiments.  _

 

_ So I guess it’s no wonder that I would make a perfect target for somebody looking to capitalize on a particular type of prey. _

 

_ I think that’s one of the reasons that I let things get so out of hand. My need to find love made me easy to manipulate. It made me willing to turn myself into an emotional pretzel if that’s what I had to do to please my lover. It made me stay with him for longer than was good for me, because I kept thinking that if I just tried harder, acted differently, or bettered myself, he would come around. I wanted his love so much that I would do anything to keep the relationship from falling apart.  _

 

_ I would even forgive him for what, looking back, now seems unforgiveable - the fact that he’s taken from me my sense of self. _

 

_ Maybe I’m just not meant for this cruel world. Maybe I’m too kind, too sympathetic, too loving. Maybe I care too much. If I were harder-hearted I’d be much better equipped to handle all the disappointments I’ve faced.  _

 

_ But, then again, if I weren’t me, I wouldn’t have fallen for this man in the first place. _

  
  


Things moved pretty fast after that first night I went to Ethan. He seemed to turn up everywhere I went. As an experienced stalker, I probably should’ve seen the signs, but in my naïveté I passed it all off as merely Ethan‘s own excitement and desire to be with me. I basically couldn’t go anywhere on campus without him dogging my steps. The cafeteria, the library, the computer lab, even the student studio spaces; everywhere I looked, there he was. But in the first blush of a new romance, I found it endearing rather than creepy.

 

Granted, I wasn’t exactly telling him to leave me alone. In fact, we were all over each other anytime we met. And even though I tried to keep our new relationship on the down low, that didn’t stop us from sneaking off into any available dark corner or closet to make out, and occasionally even have a quick fuck. What can I say, I was nineteen and horny. Having sex everywhere and anywhere I could sounded like a great idea at the time. It only became problematic when Ethan insisted repeatedly that I come back to his apartment with him for more extensive play times.

 

That’s when my conscience would bother me the most. That’s when it would strike home exactly how wrong my actions were. Because every time I let myself be towed into Ethan’s bed, I would see Brian‘s image in my mind, watching us, wearing a hurt expression. But when I tried to say no, tried to make excuses for why I shouldn’t agree to Ethan‘s importuning, he’d get the exact same hurt look in his dark brown eyes. I felt like I was being forced to choose which man I would hurt the most. And, soft-hearted me, I was absolutely unable to make that choice. What I didn’t realize until later was that I was the one who would end up being the most hurt of all.

 

In the beginning, though, I managed to tamp down that underlying guilt and my trysts with Ethan were both exciting and enjoyable. He was an attentive lover, although not nearly as skilled as Brian. Sex with Ethan was always tender and gentle. Maybe even a little tame compared to what I was used to, but not bad. To be honest, I’ve always actually preferred a more robust - sometimes even aggressive - fuck, at least most of the time. Brian always seemed to know when my mood was trending that way and would indulge me. Ethan, though, didn’t want to go there. The few times I tried to spice things up a little with Ethan did not go over very well. He always managed to bring things down to the level he was comfortable with, petting and stroking me into quiescence.

 

That, by the way, was the one worrisome thing that I noted right from the start - the fact that Ethan ALWAYS had to be in charge when we were having sex. And I don’t mean just that he always insisted on topping. It was more than that. He had to control the whole situation from start to finish. He would resist any and all advances I made, brushing me off until he was ready, then simply take over. He would arrange the scene, almost as if he were staging a play, laying me out on the bed just so, placing pillows around me in a decorative fashion, and adjusting the ambience of the room accordingly. He also had to be the one in charge of deciding which position we fucked in. And if I tried to take back any control at all, even something as small as adjusting our pace or rhythm, he’d get annoyed. 

 

I was used to being with a forceful lover, but even though Brian liked to be in control much of the time, he never subjugated me during sex in the same way Ethan would. Brian preferred his lovers to be active partners. He liked the fact that I gave as good as I took. Sex with Brian was always something of a game, a half-joking battle for dominance, that he often times let me win. Making love with Brian was a joyful experience, whereas, every time with Ethan was treated as some solemn, spiritual event, to be performed with intense seriousness. This difference definitely contributed to my slightly negative assessment of Ethan’s prowess. Not that I ever dared mention that to him. 

 

If the sexual control thing bothered me at the beginning, though, I resolutely brushed aside my worries. I told myself it was unfair to compare my two, very different, lovers. I also, I suppose, thought that there’d be time later, if I continued this affair with Ethan, to explore a more versatile sex life. Not that I was planning on the thing with Ethan going anywhere in particular. I really wasn’t. I was still deeply in love with Brian, even though I was angry with him, and I had no intention of breaking off our relationship. I told myself my fling with Ethan was just for fun, and as soon as I got it out of my system I would confess my sins to Brian and make it all up to him. In the meantime, I just tried to accept things as they were, live in the moment, and enjoy my clandestine escapades for what they were.

 

Which wasn’t hard, seeing as Ethan gave me everything I thought I needed at the time. He gave me the romance I longed for, the over the top flattery, the intense attention, the emotionality, and the spice of the forbidden. Besides, Brian was so busy with his own life right then, it was easy for me to justify all the time I spent away from him. I wasn’t even sure he noticed I was gone most of the time. And it was several weeks before I got even the first tiny indication that Brian had noticed something wasn’t quite right.

 

That night I’d stayed later than I should have at Ethan’s place. We’d made love at least twice, but Ethan still seemed reluctant to let me leave. He kept pulling me back into bed when I’d try to get up, his hands all over me, groping at me possessively. 

 

“You know, you make love like you play your violin,” I teased, trying to distract him before he started yet another round of sex. 

 

“How? With an accompanist in front of a cheering audience. Or on the street corner for cash?” he asked, playing along as he drew little love runes on my skin and traced my lips and jaw with his index finger. 

 

“Like you’re in a trance,” I explained, describing what I’d witnessed just a few minutes earlier. “With your eyes closed . . .”

 

“And you’re my instrument,” he insisted, kissing me and letting his left hand drift lower under the sheets till he’d reached something to hold onto. “First I tune you.” He stroked my half-hard dick, causing me to squirm since I was still oversensitive after our last go round. “And then I stroke you with my bow.” I tried to roll away but he circled me with his arms and held me against his chest. “And then I make beautiful sounds pour out of you.” He ended by kissing my cheek again, then relaxed, letting his head fall against my shoulder with a dramatic and well-calculated sigh.

 

I took advantage of this momentary pause in his attention to make my escape. “I have to go,” I reiterated, twisting my shoulders around so I could look up at him, letting him see how serious I was this time. 

 

I could tell by the way he was laying there, propped up on one elbow, a frown on his face as he regarded me from beneath his lowered brows, that he was NOT happy with me. It was ridiculous that he was jealous, seeing as he was the one trying to steal me away from Brian. I’d never lied to him; he'd known about my other relationship from day one. But I got the distinct impression that Ethan was pissed off at me for choosing Brian over him. 

 

As I was walking away towards the door, he spoke up again, trying one more time. “You know, if you stayed sometime, we could wake up together. Watch the sunrise. It makes everything red and gold . . .” Then he gave me his best sexy, simmering, sybarite look. 

 

But I couldn’t stay. I was already late getting back to the loft and I still had to stop by the copy center to pick up the Rage posters I’d ordered. So I merely sighed, tried but failed to smile at him, and turned away without another word.

 

As late as it was, it wasn’t a big surprise to find Brian waiting for me when I got home. What did surprise me was the way Brian broke out of character to question me about where I’d been. He’d always insisted that there were no locks on our doors. Both of us were free to come and go as we pleased. If anything, he’d always encouraged me to go out and get my needs met, if that’s what I wanted. I must have been a lot more obvious than I’d thought if Brian had noticed my abrupt change in attitude.

 

“Where have you been?” he asked almost before I was in the door.

 

“Studying. And I had to get these.” I unrolled one of the Rage posters as my alibi. “What do you think?”

 

“My own little advertising genius.” I chuckled and he added, “I told you I’d help.”

 

I took back my poster and rolled it up as I tried to shoulder past his desk. “You were too busy.”

 

“Come here.” Brian grabbed hold of the hem of my shirt and pulled me closer, 

 

“I have to shower. I stink,” I blurted out without thinking. 

 

Brian let ME go but not the subject. “From studying?”

 

I chuckled nervously as I scrambled to explain my blunder. “I was sweating over a project,” I explained, groaning inside at how utterly lame that sounded. 

 

Then I practically ran up the steps to the bathroom before Brian could question me more. I’d only been in the shower a minute or so, though, when the door clicked open again, the sound startling me. I hadn’t expected Brian to join me - he’d looked like he was busy with whatever work he’d been doing. Now here he was, following on my heels and pushing his way into the shower before I’d even finished scrubbing the dried dribbles of Ethan’s cum off my thighs. Brian was intent on his own purposes though, immediately enveloping me in his arms, taking the soap out of my hands, and pulling me into his chest as he claimed my lips with an uncharacteristic insistence.

 

There was something in that kiss that I’d never sensed in Brian before. A resoluteness combined with a question? Maybe it was just my guilty conscience, but it felt like he was asking me for reassurance with every touch, every caress, every single kiss. Brian always was much better at showing me how he felt than telling me with words. I could feel uncertainty and doubt in his very stance. And for a brief moment, I almost confessed everything to him. 

 

I stood there, the warm shower water raining down on my face as I looked up at Brian, the acknowledgment of my sins waiting on the tip of my tongue. “Brian . . .”

 

He became perfectly still. Perfectly silent. His eyes never left my face as he waited for me to speak. It was like he already knew what I was going to tell him and was only awaiting confirmation.

  
  


But when I tried to speak, I didn’t know what to say. In the space of thirty seconds I ran through a dozen different sentences in my head but none of them seemed right. 

 

‘I need to tell you something, Brian. I broke our rules. I’ve been fucking around on you behind your back’, sounded too blunt and at the same time incomplete. ‘I’m sorry’, would only earn me his contempt along with the standard complaint that ‘sorry’s bullshit’. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen’, was far too trite. But begging him to, ‘please love me’, although that was what I wanted to say more than anything, would get me nowhere. 

 

And so my nascent confession died on my lips unvoiced. I knew Brian knew I was hiding something from him, but he let me. I covered up my moment of indecision by pulling his face down for a kiss, but even that felt tentative and unfamiliar. It was a guilty kiss. It left me even more disconcerted than before. I couldn’t face Brian any longer and covered up by turning my back to him. 

 

Brian chose to interpret my actions as an opportunity to engage in our usual showertime activities, and he proceeded to push me against the glass of the shower surround as he picked a condom out of the soap dish. I was glad that he couldn’t see my face because I knew I didn’t have my expression or my emotions under control. It was easier to let him have his way while I collected myself. He didn’t waste any time, either. He didn’t bother opening me - was that his way of intimating that he knew it would be unnecessary, seeing as I’d just come from another’s bed, who knows - but simply pressed his way inside me from behind. He didn’t say a single word as he claimed me. There was no playfulness, no joy, it was all desperation hidden behind a thin veneer of lust. 

 

And even our kisses felt like a prelude to the end.

  
  


Two days later, when Michael and I were out postering Gayopolis with our Rage flyers, Ethan once again turned up out of the blue. I really was being stalked, it seemed; I’d never before seen Ethan out on Liberty Avenue, yet there he was. But rather than be creeped out by it, I was thrilled that he’d go to such lengths to be with me. Plus, I was bored - Michael and I had already been at the postering thing for a couple of hours by that point - so Ethan was a more than welcome distraction. I quickly made an excuse to Michael and trotted off down the street, following the sound of Ethan’s violin, till I came to a rest with the others listening to the performance.

 

Only this meeting was different from all our prior meetings. Back at school, my secret had been relatively safe. None of friends would be any the wiser if I was messing around with someone at PIFA. This was Liberty Avenue. I was known here, and so was Brian. This was a much more aggressive act on Ethan’s part than anything he’d pressed for earlier. Of course I was blind to the risks, driven by lust to throw caution to the wind, and I stupidly trusted to luck that nobody would notice.

 

Ethan pretended to be surprised by my appearance and asked what I was doing there - as if the stack of Rage posters I was holding wasn’t a dead giveaway. I don’t know why I let him get away with such an obvious lie. Maybe it was because I was already lying to myself about what was going on, so what was a little more pretending? Whatever. It didn’t seem important enough to call him on it. 

 

We chatted a little and he tried to pull we away, suggesting we go get a cup of coffee together - which I knew was code for getting me off alone so we could fuck - but I declined. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to shake Michael that easily, not when I’d already put him off the day before and promised him that we’d get these posters up that afternoon. When I told Ethan I couldn’t go get a latte with him, he covered up his disappointment pretty well, but used that moment to press me for something else that I’d been avoiding . . . an official date.

 

“Well, maybe this weekend we can go see a movie,” Ethan suggested casually. “You like French films?”

 

I’d successfully brushed off previous suggestions of the sort, but this time I felt caught. I didn’t want to take whatever this thing with Ethan was to the next level. I didn’t want to start making PLANS with him. Up till then we’d just been messing around. Up till then it had all been spontaneous and unplanned. I suppose it was easier for me to justify what I was doing if I could tell myself that it was all just a whim. But if I accepted his invitation to the movies, our fling would no longer be just a random thing. It would mean that I was consciously making a choice to be with him. And I was NOT ready for that.

I tried to nonchalantly demur without seeming like I was making a real choice. “I’ve never been to one,” I answered, referring to French films in general.

 

“Never been? You peasant,” Ethan replied, making it sound like he was teasing although his flippant insult still hurt a little.

 

I laughed it off, though, while he explained about the film he wanted to go see, pressing his case for the date he wanted to rope me into. 

 

“They’re showing ‘Jules et Jim’,” he explained. “A story about two men in love with the same woman. Only, if you’ll notice, her name’s not in the title. Which leads me to believe that they’re secretly in love with each other.”

 

“It’s hard enough loving one person,” I blurted out before I could censor my words. 

 

“But, if you’re the one the other two are in love with,” Ethan reasoned blithely as he laid a full-on guilt trip at my feet, “then you can break both their hearts.”

 

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? I just stood there, stunned that he’d put me on the spot like that. It was cruel to point out the predicament I was in. Especially when he was the one that was the proximate cause of our little love triangle. Ethan was the one pursuing me - unrelentingly - following me around, always pushing his way in, and now pressuring me to agree to this date. And yet he managed to make ME feel like I was the only one at fault. That I was the one causing all the hurt while he was blameless. 

 

And I was gullible enough to accept that blame. 

 

When I still said nothing, merely standing there locked in confusion and guilt, Ethan swooped in and asserted his position even more strongly by stealing a kiss. At first I resisted, not really kissing back. The thought that I shouldn’t be doing this here, in broad daylight, in the middle of Liberty Avenue, flittered through my mind. But he was insistent. He pressed his lips harder against mine and demanded entry with his tongue. I should have pulled away. I should have left. But that’s not my nature, I guess. Instead I let him take control of the kiss and eventually began kissing back. He only relented when it was clear that he had won - again - and then I was allowed to break off the kiss. 

  
  


I pulled away from him, a little dazed and feeling like I’d somehow given away more than just a kiss. “I’ll call you about the weekend,” I muttered as I stepped away from him, trying to gain not only space but time to think. 

 

“Sure. That’s cool,” Ethan acquiesced, having already won this round. 

 

I quickly waved goodbye, moving off towards the building down the block where I was supposed to be hanging my posters. Ethan didn’t even really look at me. He seemed to be staring at something or someone across the street, but I was too flustered to think about it at the time. I was too busy trying to work out in my head where that conversation had gone so wrong and what the fuck I was doing with my life.

 

I suppose I should have known that things couldn’t go on the way they had been for much longer. I should have known I couldn’t get away with hiding my double life. I should have known that my lies would catch up with me. 

 

I should have known that somebody who knew me might have seen that kiss . . . 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/8/18 - FYI, I don't plan to just keep rewriting scenes from the show forever, but I need to set up the rest of my story by reframing the way you see the break up between Brian and Justin. Trust me, though, that this story WILL get more original sooner or later. Thanks for bearing with me. TAG


	4. Things Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Justin's secret comes to light... Enjoy! TAG

 

Chapter 4 - Things Fall Apart.

 

_ I’ve often wondered not only why Ethan chose me as his next victim, but also how he knew that I was so ripe for the taking.  _

 

_ Was it just circumstance that he came along right at a time when I was struggling with so much self-doubt? Was I so obviously damaged that he knew I would be easy prey? Or, maybe, did he turn me into someone that he COULD prey on without me even realizing it?  _

 

_ Granted, Brian and I had always had our problems, but for a while at least, I had thought we’d worked them out. Or at least mostly so. Truthfully, I didn’t actually mind the occasional threesome, and I never expected Brian to change overnight into some monogamous zombie. Really, I didn’t. _

 

_ I look back on that time, before Ethan, and I honestly can’t tell you now what was so bad about it. I had it all. I had the freedom to experiment sexually with whomever I wanted, with the full support of my partner. And I exercised that freedom at every opportunity, like any horny eighteen-year-old would. At the same time, I had Brian in my bed every night, which was more than anyone else had ever got from him. I got to enjoy both his body and his attentions.  _

 

_ That should have been enough, right? I mean, even though he rarely admitted our commitment out loud, and I knew Brian cared about me. He supported me both financially and physically. He gave me everything he could. Why wasn’t I happy when I had all that? _

 

_ I can’t even pinpoint the moment that my attitude changed. One day I was going along, perfectly content with my unconventional life, and the next I felt profoundly unsatisfied. When did I decide that I needed an exclusive relationship and, more importantly, why? That hadn’t ever been something *I* wanted before.  _

 

_ Maybe it started when I began hanging out with Michael while we were working on on our comic book. I remember listening to him rhapsodizing for hours about his romance with Ben. Was that when I became infected by the idea of monogamy? Who knows. _

 

_ Ethan, however, must have somehow sensed that longing in me - even before I’d fully acknowledged it myself - and he seized on it. He used that opening to get inside my defenses. That was the flaw that made me vulnerable. That was the opening that let him get an emotional hold on me. Before I knew it, I’d gone from a vague uncertainty about my relationship with Brian, to being outright fed up at Brian’s inability to commit to just me . . . Without ever really going through any intermediate stage.  _

 

_ So, maybe it wasn’t just a coincidence that Ethan came along at the perfect time to take advantage of my relationship with Brian starting to fall apart. Maybe he manipulated that circumstance. Like he’s manipulated me so often since. Ethan has always had  this way of making his ideas become your ideas, and he does it in such a sneaky fashion that you sometimes believe it was always your idea to begin with. Either way, within weeks of meeting the charismatic young musician, I’d become convinced that I needed to be with someone that was willing to commit to an exclusive relationship.  _

 

_ In other words, someone who was NOT Brian Kinney. _

 

_ I guess, maybe, I’ve always been the perfect plaything for someone like Ethan. _

  
  
  
  


It took almost a week after that unadvised kiss on Liberty Avenue for my bad luck to catch up with me. Meanwhile, Ethan and I went blithely along, fucking our way through life without a care in the world. Ethan continued to stalk me around school and even followed me a couple times to Liberty Avenue, but I didn’t care. I got a perverse little thrill out of the clandestine nature of our meetings. 

 

However, it was getting more and more difficult for me to make up excuses for why I kept disappearing. Brian questioned me more than once about how much extra time I was spending ‘studying’ these days - it was actually sweet that he seemed worried about my workload and warned me not to overstress myself or my hand. I wonder if the fact that, regardless of all the extra ‘work’ I was supposedly doing, my hand didn’t seem to be adversely affected, was what tipped Brian off that I was lying? I’m sure that my later and later evenings away from the loft certainly did. But the clincher was probably when I begged off joining Deb’s gay bowling team. Granted, I was never a great athlete, and my bowling was atrocious, but normally I would have been there at least for moral support. Not now, though. Now, I was too busy using the time that Brian was distracted with bowling for my private rendez-vous with Ethan to bother cheering the gang on.

 

Those were definitely the ‘salad days’ of my time with Ethan. Fuck, he can be so damned charismatic when he wants to be. He totally swept me off my feet. He romanced the crap out of me. Not only was he always following me around, imploring me to come back to his apartment with him, but he’d leave me little love notes in my school locker. He’d bring me small, inexpensive presents - half-blown roses he told me he’d saved out of the trash behind the local florists, a single chocolate truffle from this fancy bakery we both loved, a small heart-shaped pebble he said he’d found while walking - stuff that didn’t have any actual value, but that seemed to mean so much. One day he even wrote me a poem that he claimed had just come to him in a dream, and which he insisted on reciting to me in the cafeteria at school in front of all my classmates. It was pretty much the most romantic thing I could think of and I ate it up. 

 

Little did I know then that it was all just an act. The poem he claimed to have written for me came from a cheesy poetry book that I found in his apartment a few months later. He bought that heart-shaped pebble from a kitschy little gift shop just around the corner from PIFA. He had an account at the bakery and I later found out that he regularly bought the same kind of truffle he’d given me, and judging by what the sales clerk told me, he bought a lot more truffles than the ones I received. Even the love notes were a fabrication that he mass produced and then kept hidden in a drawer underneath his stacks of sheet music, pulling one out every so often when he needed to placate me. But, of course, I didn’t know any of this at the time. 

 

At the time, all I could see was the alluring guise Ethan would put on for me. The way he would act like I was the only man in the world. All I could hear were the teeming compliments he heaped on me. He would tell me how beautiful I was, complimenting my eyes, my hair, my everything. He told me I was his ‘muse’ and that the very idea of me inspired him. He claimed that he had never played better in his life and would routinely demonstrate that fact by serenading me after we’d made love. Since I didn’t know shit about classical music, I had no reason to dispute these statements; all I cared about was the enchanting image we made as Ethan would waltz nakedly around the apartment, playing his violin for me, while I lounged on the ratty old sofa and made sketch after sketch of my musician. If nothing else, the pretence of our love was perfectly suited to my mood.

 

Looking back, though, I suppose there were tiny fissures in the facade which I noted even back then. It was clear from day one that Ethan was excessively self-absorbed and loved to monopolize the conversation. If you can believe it, Chatterbox Justin, the babbling boy wonder, could barely get a word in edgewise most days. Since he mostly talked about music and the world of musicians - a subject about which I knew nothing - I didn’t have much to add anyway, though, so I let him talk. I also noticed that even his compliments to me seemed to reflect back on him much of the time. He’d comment on my beauty, but it was always in the context of how my appearance inspired him. He’d praise my artwork more vehemently when he was the subject the drawings and virtually ignore my other sketches or more abstract pieces. He’d brag about my intelligence by emphasizing how smart HIS boyfriend was. It was almost like I was only an extension of Ethan and not a person in my own right. And, yeah, it was pretty obvious, but I guess we were new enough that it didn’t overly bother me at the time. 

 

And, while things were good between us, life was wonderful. We fucked and laughed and frolicked together. We lived this separate, idealized, almost fairy-tale life, hidden away in Ethan’s little garrett. It was perfect and there was no reason for conflict between us. Everything seemed perfect. 

 

At first.

 

Reality caught up with me the night Brian surprised me, lying in wait in the darkened loft as I dragged my ass home from yet another evening of blissful fantasy with my musician lover. I was still drifting along in a cloud of romanticism, humming a few bars of Ethan’s latest piece, as I pulled open the door and made my way into what I thought was an empty loft. As soon as I pulled the door closed, though, Brian appeared out of the gloom, scaring me with the way he seemed to materialize out of thin air behind my back. 

 

I could tell right away that Brian had been drinking rather heavily. He had a tumbler of JB in his hand and was slurring his words. Still, he looked his usual, sexy self, even though he was only wearing a pair of old jeans and a plain white t-shirt, barefoot, his hair messed up and his jawline shaded by a day’s worth of stubble. He was obviously horny too, as evidenced by the bulge in his partially unbuttoned pants. 

 

Normally, that was the kind of Brian I wouldn’t be able to resist. But I was fresh from Ethan’s bed and I hadn’t taken the time to clean myself afterwards - my starving artist lover only had a bathtub, not a shower, which made it problematic to bathe after our trysts, and I usually just waited till I got home to shower - so I tried to sidestep around Brian. He wasn’t having it though. He intercepted me and tried to steal a kiss. I turned my head to the side; probably the first time I’d ever rejected one of Brian’s kisses. My reaction seemed to immediately rile the half-drunk Brian.

 

“Where’re you going?” he demanded as I attempted to pull out of his grip.

 

“Taking a shower.”

 

He wasn’t buying it. “You sure are taking a LOT of showers lately,” Brian intimated, pulling me back towards him by my jacket even as I twisted to try and free myself. 

 

I felt like I was being groped by an octopus; every time I tried to escape, Brian would grab hold of a different part of me. He started by encircling my waist with his arms, pulling my back closer to his chest. I turned in his grip and he looped his left arm around mine, so that I had to face him as I tried to extricate that limb. I tried to step back from him, but he hooked a finger in my sleeve and towed me back.

  
  


“Come here.”

 

“Later,” I insisted.

 

“Now.” 

 

Brian leaned into me, his face only millimeters away, eyeing me with the kind of hungry look that would normally make me melt.

 

I tried to act casual as I patted his face dismissively. “Can’t we please do this AFTER I shower?”

 

He just wouldn’t let go of me, though. “I like smelling YOU, not soap.”

 

That statement caused me to freeze in place. I knew I was caught. I could no longer look him in the eye. All the struggle went out of me as I just stood there and waited to see what my punishment would be. 

 

In typical Brian Kinney fashion, however, he didn’t do what you’d expect. Instead of yelling at me and throwing around accusations, he simply looked at me with the most tender expression. Then he reached up to caress my face. And then he sniffed at me, his flaring nostrils barely a centimeter from my bee-stung lips. It was a game we’d played before - joking that we could tell what each other’s tricks looked like merely by smelling their leftover scent - but this time it didn’t feel like fun and games. This time I could tell that Brian sensed my guilt. He knew that whatever man I’d been with hadn’t been just another trick. 

 

Then, in a lightning quick change of mood, Brian’s calm shattered. He seized hold of me and slammed his mouth against mine. It wasn’t so much a kiss as a possession. He ate at my lips, sucking at them sloppily, as if hoping to replace the last touch on them with his own. Replacing Ethan’s scent with his. Marking me. Reminding me who I belonged to without uttering a word.

 

Despite how guilty and unquiet I felt, my body responded instantly to Brian’s assault. I was kissing him back, almost as violently, daring him to prove he actually cared. My hands were scrabbling at his skin, trying to dig their way in and establish a permanent hold on him. I wanted him to take me. To punish me. To PROVE that he loved me.

 

Things got heated pretty fast. Our bodies were pressed together and it was obvious how immediately aroused we both were. Brian yanked my jacket off and started to pull up my shirt but I didn’t want to leave off kissing him long enough to get the fabric off over my head. Instead, he tightened his hold around my waist and dragged us both down to our knees. Then he pushed me away long enough to get my shirt off before shoving me onto my back so I was lying on the bare, cold floorboards in front of him. And still he was kissing me, biting at my lips and neck, his hands twining so tightly in my hair it hurt. 

 

I was loving every minute of it. I wanted him so badly right at that moment, that I couldn’t think straight. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be punished. Whatever. Just so long as he noticed me. Touched me with those ultra-sensitive hands that always knew how to give me what I wanted, even before I knew what that was myself. I wanted him to fill me and keep fucking me till I forgot all my doubts and insecurities. 

 

I reached up, fumbling at the buttons of his jeans, desperate to hurry things along, but he viciously slapped my hands away and instead unzipped my own fly, yanking my pants down far enough to free my cock. 

 

Then he lay down, covering my body with his own and asked, “you like that?”

 

I breathed out a raspy, “Yes!” 

 

He seized my lips again, kissing me so hard I tasted blood, his hands tugging at my hair and his hips grinding against me with a series of violent jerks that caused me actual pain. It barely registered though. I wanted to feel that pain. I knew I deserved it. I wanted more, in fact. 

 

But just when I thought I was going to get my wish - Brian fucking me all better - he stopped cold. Brian pulled away from my kiss, hands braced on the floor, one on each side of my face, and he raised up far enough to look me in the eyes. I didn’t want him to go so I kept trying to reach him with my mouth, kissing his chin since it was all I could reach. But he pulled away even more.

 

“Why’d you stop,” I asked breathily.

 

He just looked at me, this contemptuous look slowly overtaking the full-blown lust of only seconds before.

 

“Brian?”

 

Then Brian did the cruelest thing he’d ever done to me . . . something that I completely deserved but which was nonetheless unexpected enough to hurt like a stake driven through my heart. 

  
  


He paused, looking directly into my eyes, his gaze raining down unspoken accusations on me for uncounted seconds. I could do nothing besides lie there, pinned in place by that icy stare. Then he inhaled, loudly, through his nostrils, moving his face slightly as if to take in a greater range of whatever he was smelling. 

 

Before I could think of anything to say, he sneered at me and snarled, “go take a shower. You stink.”

 

After which, he got up and left me lying there on the floor, so devastated by his rejection that I felt like I’d been beaten, and he simply walked away. It was actually a surprise when, a minute later, I reached down to pull up my pants and felt no blood. There should have been blood, right? Anything that hurt that badly should leave some external indicator. I should be bleeding from the hole where he yanked out my heart. There should be something. But no. My body was in one piece. It was just my soul that had been ripped asunder. 

 

And the worst part is that I’d done it all to myself. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/13/18 - I know this chapter is a little short, but it was the only place I could fit in a break before the big Rage party scene. Damn that's going to be hard to write... But here I go. TAG


	5. Snake Charmer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin is forced to decide between his lovers and yet given no choice... Enjoy! TAG

  
  


Chapter 5 - Snake Charmer.

  
  


_ It was so easy, at first, to fall into Ethan’s world. He was so charming and charismatic. So enthusiastic about life in general. I was immediately captivated. And in the beginning, when everything was going Ethan’s way, it was all good.  _

 

_ I suppose it’s easy to be happy and charming when everything is going your way. He praised me, complimented me, and seemed interested in everything about me. We laughed and joked around all the time. And since I very rarely turned him down back then, for sex or any other request, there was no reason for him to criticize me or show any anger. _

 

_ In the beginning everything was rainbows, roses, and unicorns. He played his fiddle and I danced along in his wake as if he were the Pied Piper. Maybe I should’ve paid closer attention to that fairytale when I was a child, though, because like that cautionary children’s tale, my own story was doomed to have an unhappy ending. Someone should’ve reminded me that the Primrose Path is always an illusion. You can ignore the realities of life for only so long before they intrude on your fantasy. And then the unpleasantries of the world come knocking insistently on your door. _

 

_ So, yeah, when things were going well, Ethan was the most charming person you’d ever met. As long as I was giving him what he wanted - admiration, respect, attention - everything was hunky-dory. Roses fairly grew out of his ass. And he rewarded me during those good times by making me feel cherished and valued beyond anything I’ve experienced before. _

 

_ But the moment things became difficult, whenever I found even the tiniest bit of fault with him, or when circumstances outside his control went south, that charm and wit could disappear in a snap.  _

 

_ That’s when I realize that the Pied Piper was leading me down a path from which I might never return.  _

  
  


After Brian’s little warning stunt I tried to stay away from Ethan. I really did. I know he hadn’t actually SAID anything - it wasn’t like Brian to make demands or impose restrictions on others - but I knew that had been his way of giving me an unspoken ultimatum. He was doing what he always did, communicating through his actions rather than his words. But the message was clear as day; he knew what I was up to and he wasn’t pleased.

 

After I’d crawled to the shower and washed Ethan’s stink off me, I emerged from the bathroom determined to fix the mess I’d made. I knew I was the one in the wrong. I was the one who’d broken our rules - again - not Brian. Brian hadn’t ever broken a promise he made to me. And if I didn’t want to lose him, I needed to figure out a way to make it up to him.

 

That proved difficult, however, because Brian wasn’t there when I finished my shower. I assumed he had gone out to blow off some steam. Probably to Babylon. I was actually glad for the respite, to be honest, and thought I could use the time to think through how I was going approach things with Brian when he returned. Unfortunately, I was asleep before Brian came in that night. He also left without waking me for our usual morning shower fuck the next day. And this pattern carried through for the rest of the week. We barely saw each other and, when we did, there was this chilling emotional distance between us that seemed impenetrable. Even worse, he didn’t touch me all week. 

 

It seemed my punishment wasn’t over yet.

 

Meanwhile, Ethan refused to give up and leave me alone. The man was persistent as fuck. If I’d thought he was borderline stalking me before, there was no longer any doubt. He literally followed my every step from the moment I arrived on campus every day till I got on the bus to head home. Most days he also turned up on Liberty Avenue after school, watching me surreptitiously from across the street while I was working at the Diner or hiding in the shadows at Woody’s or Babylon when I was out with Brian and the gang. One night, while I was standing at the window having a smoke before heading to bed, I even caught a glimpse of Ethan lurking on the street corner across from the loft. Luckily, he wasn’t looking up when I saw him, so I was able to back away and hide behind the blinds before he saw me, otherwise he’d probably have tried to get me to let him in or something. 

 

No matter how many times I told him I was no longer interested, though, he kept imploring me not to shut him out. To give him another chance. To not throw away our love. He even had the audacity to tell me that he thought he’d die without me; claimed he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t even play his violin, since I’d been gone. He was convincing too. He made me feel even worse than I had before, so now I wasn’t only feeling guilty about cheating on Brian, but also for causing Ethan pain. There I was, ruining two good men’s lives, and I still wasn’t satisfied. I had to be the biggest asshole ever born, right?

 

Things finally came to a head the morning the shipment of Rage comic books was delivered. Michael and I had been working on this project for months, and I’d really been looking forward to seeing the comic in print, but that accomplishment seemed hollow by the time it arrived. We were at his shop that morning, and we opened the first carton together, marveling at the sight of our creation come to life, so to speak. But, just when we were starting to talk over the possibilities this might lead to, Brian came through the door and brought with him that same air of distant chilliness I’d been suffering under all week. Suddenly, all the fun of seeing my comic in print evaporated and I once again felt uncomfortable and depressed. 

 

Even Brian’s announcement about the marketing extravaganza he’d arranged to help launch the comic seemed to fall flat. Yeah, the party at Babylon he’d planned sounded great, and the advertising was spot on, but I couldn’t help feeling like it was all an extravagant bandaid slapped on top of our ailing relationship at the last minute. I was probably reading too much into it, I know. Brian had undoubtedly been planning this for weeks. In my mind, though, it felt like he was trying to buy my appeasement since he couldn’t show me love in any other way. 

 

So I thanked Brian politely, promised I’d see him later that night, said goodbye to Michael, and then quickly made my exit with the excuse that I needed to get to class. Of course Ethan was there within moments after I stepped off the bus at PIFA and, without really even thinking about it, I gave into him that time. I let him lead me away to his  apartment. We skipped all our classes, spending the whole day in his bed, making love over and over.

 

Yes, I know it was stupid. Yes, I realize it was a huge mistake. I don’t have any excuse other than that I was weak and lazy. It seemed like the easiest course of action to give in to Ethan just then. I thought he was offering me what I needed. And I was still so hurt by Brian’s cold-shouldered, blatantly transactional, approach to our relationship, that I was a total pushover for Ethan’s more overt sentimentalism. So sue me; I was young and confused and way too easy to manipulate. But even I didn’t realize the full consequences of my actions back then. 

 

That afternoon still stands out in my memory as an almost perfectly idyllic moment. With the golden spring sunlight streaming in through the windows and gilding the room, it almost seemed like a fairytale scene. Ethan was SO attentive. He pulled out all the stops to make it seem like I was the center of his universe. He worshipped my body. He offered me compliments and caresses and made me feel like a pampered princess. Did I mention how charming Ethan is when he wants to be? That afternoon his charm meter was turned up to ten. And I ate it all up, reveling in my moment in the sun.

 

It wasn’t until later in the day, lying there watching the dust motes drifting in and out of the rays still peeking through the windows, that the fantasy started to crumble. Ethan had cracked open a bottle of cheap white wine which he’d mixed with cranberry juice so as to make it drinkable, and we were sprawled atop the cum-stained bed covers as we sipped. His one hand was lazily playing in my pubes, creating spiral towers by twirling the curly hairs together in random patterns. I was too fucked out by that point to respond beyond the occasional approving purr. Which is when Ethan started pressing me for more.

 

“So, tell me . . . does your boyfriend make love to you like that?” he asked in a lazy, gloating drawl.

 

I had no interest whatsoever in answering that particular question. That was a completely unfair comparison to make. Brian was more than nine inches fully hard and his dick had a nice heft to it as well. He also knew exactly what to do with those nine inches. Ethan, on the other hand, was . . . adequate. He had a respectable seven inches or so, but his dick was slender and didn’t do much to fill me up. Even when he was concentrating solely on me, like he had been that afternoon, his sexual skills didn’t really stand up to Brian’s. But, then again, that’s not what I wanted from Ethan. If all I had wanted was a nice thick dick up my ass, I would never have left Brian’s bed. What I thought I wanted at the time was something much more esoteric. I wanted LOVE, or at least the outward trappings of love. 

 

Of course, I wan’t about to insult Ethan by trying to explain that to him, so I simply shrugged and chuckled noncommittally. Blinded by his ego, like always, Ethan chose to accept my non-answer as assent. Of course I agreed that he was the best lover ever, why wouldn’t I? In Ethan’s mind, his opinion was always correct and he only heard people who agreed with him, all others were ignored. 

 

“That’s what I’m talking about, Baby,” he quietly rejoiced and then toasted himself before drinking down the last of his glass of wine. “So tell me about him. What’s he like? Tell me all the ways I’m better than him.”

 

That demand caused me to snort, but I managed to hide my reaction in my glass of wine. The word ‘hubris’ came to mind. You definitely couldn’t fault Ethan for a lack of self-regard. But I wasn’t going to talk about Brian with my ‘piece on the side’, no matter how angry I was at him. Ethan might enjoy the challenge of trying to steal me away from Brian, but I certainly wasn’t going to indulge him by offering tips on how better to accomplish his goals.

 

Ethan took my wine glass away and set it on the floor next to the bed, then rearranged himself so he was lying with his head on my abdomen. He pulled my arm around so it was lying atop his chest and laced our fingers together. I could almost see the wheels in his head churning as he thought through the next step in his plan of seduction before he finally spoke.

 

“So, this Friday, instead of going club-hopping with your boyfriend, why don’t you drive to the country with me?” he suggested. “We’ll park under the stars and we’ll watch the meteor shower.” He lifted our conjoined hands above his head and wiggled our fingers together to demonstrate the falling stars he was promising me.

 

Put on the spot like that, I was finally forced to give him an actual answer. “I can’t. He’s giving me a party.”

 

“Don’t tell me he finally decided he believes in birthdays.” Ethan laughed at his own joke and I playfully slapped him in the head to get him to stop. 

 

“No. It’s for the comic book,” I explained.

 

That got Ethan’s attention. He hadn’t really shown much interest in my comic book earlier - probably because it had nothing to do with him - except to comment on how proud he was of me for putting my talent to work like that. Now that he heard Brian was involved with the comic, though, Ethan was suddenly intrigued. I suppose he must have thought that if Brian was interested in the comic, he should be too, at least enough to counter his rival’s attentions.

 

Ethan twisted around so that he was propped up on one elbow, peering down at me from above, and pried deeper into the matter. “He must love you a lot.”

 

What was I supposed to say to that? It was such a random thing to say. It felt like he was again trying to get me to compare his love to that which Brian showed me. It made me very uncomfortable. 

 

“In his way,” I responded vaguely.

 

“But not in yours,” Ethan added, turning the sentence into a statement of fact rather than a question and, at the same time, reaching over to caress my face in a possessive manner, as if to assert that only HE knew how to love me in the right fashion.

 

When I didn’t reply one way or the other, Ethan leaned in and kissed me to cover up the moment of silence. I must not have returned the gesture enthusiastically enough, though, because Ethan sighed and rolled back until he was lying flat again. I used the break to extricate myself, rolling out of bed as I announced, “I have to go.”

 

Even without looking at Ethan I could tell he was annoyed that I was again leaving him to return to Brian. Who could blame him, right? Although, it’s not like I had ever promised him anything or even suggested that I would leave Brian. But he kept pressing, nonetheless. 

 

I was only half dressed when he crawled out of bed, walked over to his computer and then turned towards me with yet another gift in hand. “My latest CD. You’re the first person to have it,” he offered, handing me the CD in its casing. 

 

I immediately noticed the cover art. “You used my drawing!”

 

He gave me a smug smile with a little shrug and directed me to, “check out the back.”

 

I flipped the case over. There was the usual list of the songs included on the CD along with all the typical disclaimers and legal notices. What immediately stood out, however, was the title at the top. It said only, ‘For Justin’.

 

“For Justin?” I read it again, this time aloud, blushing at the silly compliment. 

 

Ethan stood there, so proud of himself, waiting for me to offer up the gratitude he knew this gesture merited. What could I do? I WAS flattered. So I kissed him . . . And ended up staying another hour before I finally took my leave. 

  
  


The next few days were busy. I had a million and one things to do to get ready for the Rage launch party, not to mention a ton of homework and assignments to catch up on after my day of playing hooky with Ethan. This meant I only got to say a brief ‘hello’ to my musician before running off each day on my various errands. He was still following me around though, and I’d often find him playing on various street corners at random times, pretty much any time I wasn’t in class or studying. 

 

On Thursday afternoon I was late to work because I’d had to wait around for a professor who’d asked me to come by his office to give him a status update on my term project. I half expected Ethan to still be waiting for me outside the Fine Arts building when I left. When I didn’t see him, I figured it was because the weather had turned colder that day, with a late spring snowstorm blowing through, and he’d probably given up waiting. So I hurried off down the street, catching the next bus downtown, and arriving at the Diner only about fifteen minutes past the time my shift had been scheduled to start.

 

I was in such a hurry when I came through the door, I almost didn’t notice Brian sitting at one of the booths till I was almost on top of him. It was still only late afternoon, so I really hadn’t expected to see him. He was, of course, dressed in his Armani best, looking every bit like the successful businessman he was. For a moment I was deceived by his unexpected appearance and happy that he’d seemingly made a special trip to see me. A flash of hope that maybe we’d make up speared through my heart. 

 

That only lasted the few seconds it took me to approach the booth. 

 

“Brian!” I greeted him heartily. “Brian, I thought you’d be at work still . . .” 

 

Then I noticed the person sitting across from him and my stomach did an uncomfortable flip flop that left me slightly nauseous.

 

“We’re just having a business meeting,” Brian declared gesturing towards his guest . . . a shell-shocked looking Ethan. “Justin, this is Ethan. Ethan, Justin,” he introduced us. 

 

I almost dropped the jacket I’d just taken off when I’d come in from outside. Ethan’s expression had morphed from shock to anger as he looked from me to Brian and back. I could tell he suspected I’d somehow set him up, although how that was possible when I’d had no idea he’d dare to follow me all the way to my work this time, I didn’t know. 

 

Brian, meanwhile, sported a perfectly neutral expression, like he had no clue what he’d just done. I didn’t buy it for a minute. Brian was too cool a customer for that. I knew he knew about Ethan, I just hadn’t known how much he knew. Although, when I thought about it, I remembered that the new CD Ethan had given me only days before - the one with my artwork on the cover which was titled ‘For Justin’ - had mysteriously gone missing that morning. One guess how that had happened. Yeah, this chance meeting had all the earmarks of yet another ‘lesson’ arranged for me by my controlling non-boyfriend.

 

It worked, too. I felt like a rabbit caught between two birds of prey; I wasn’t sure which one would devour me first, but I knew I was toast either way. I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, looking back and forth between the two men who I was currently sleeping with, while my mind remained perfectly blank. Ethan looked confused, like he wasn’t accustomed to being played with. Brian smiled at us both with that fake innocent smile he always used on his clients or his horrible mother. And we might have all gone on like that forever, an awkward triangle of guilt, if Ethan hadn’t finally picked up his violin case and started to slide out of the booth. 

 

“I gotta get to class,” Ethan stated, directing a momentary flash of anger my way as he got to his feet. 

 

I might have said something then - apologizing or pleading for mercy, I don’t know which - if Brian hadn’t interrupted again. “By the way, if you’re interested, the job’s yours.”

 

Ethan stopped in his tracks, looked back over his shoulder at Brian as if trying to figure him out, then frowned disdainfully before he silently turned and left. I could tell by the set of his shoulders Ethan was pissed as hell - at me or at Brian, I couldn’t yet tell. When I turned back to Brian, I could see his mask of indifference had finally fallen away, leaving me a glimpse of the pain and regret he was hiding inside. But it was a defiant regret, one he would never offer repentance for. And, in the end, he looked away without saying another word to me. 

 

He was waiting for me at the loft when I finished my shift at the Diner. I’d spent the entire four hours I was working thinking of how I was going to approach him. At first I was going to go with accusations and anger, but that mood quickly dissipated. I knew that crying and throwing myself on his mercy would be useless - Brian had nothing but contempt for those who didn’t stand up for themselves. But what did that leave me? In the end, I decided to go with a plea for forgiveness and hope for the best. 

 

“Brian, I’m sorry,” were the first words out of my mouth. “I didn’t mean for it to happen . . .”

 

And Brian, of course, proceeded to mock my apology. All the rest of my carefully prepared speech was immediately forgotten. He never could be serious about emotional shit. So, instead of actually talking about what had happened, and maybe even working out some of our problems, Brian proceeded to turn it all into a joke.

 

“So, how big is his dick?”

 

“That has nothing to do with it,” I spat.

 

“Since when?” he queried, jumping up to stop me when I started to walk away. “You love cock.” He gave me a little peck on my cheek. “You love it down you throat.” He shoved his hand down the front of my jeans and began to fondle me. “You love it up your ass. You love riding it.” He was slowly stroking me and I was already getting aroused despite by simmering anger. “And after you come, you love to fall asleep with it still inside you.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he purred the final words. 

 

However, I wasn’t amused or in the mood to play games. “Cut it out,” I demanded, pulling his out out of my pants. “Cut it out!”

 

“You’re hard.”

 

“So?”

 

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

 

I pushed him away. Brian let me. He turned and walked into the kitchen, pretending to look for something in the fridge.

 

“There ARE other things,” I insisted.

 

“Flowers? Picnics?” he asked. Then his eyes darted to the kitchen counter where the missing CD was now waiting in full view. “Violin music?” he sneered.

He was taunting me and, all of a sudden, I’d just had enough. “He LOVES me,” I insisted, finally voicing the thing that had been bottled up in my throat so long it was a wonder I hadn’t strangled on it already. 

 

Brian closed the fridge door and then paused a moment before facing me again. “Your dreamy-eyed schoolboy?”

 

“In ways that you can’t.”

 

“In ways that I won’t,” Brian corrected, now looking at me with a resigned sadness that sucked the anger right out of me. 

 

“He told me that I’m all he wants,” I tried again, foolishly hoping that I might provoke some spark of reactionary emotion.

 

But Brian never was one to play games by anyone else’s rules. “They’re still using that one?” he teased dismissively.

 

I was choking back tears by that point, all but assured that I wasn’t going to get the ending I wanted, yet still not ready to give up. “It’s more than you’ve ever said,” I pressed.

 

Brian moved close enough to reach for me, taking my face in his big strong hands. The hands that had always, before, made me feel so secure. And then he broke me.

 

“And it’s more than I ever will.” Brian leaned even closer, his forehead touching my temple and his words dropping to a husky baritone whisper. “So . . . Uh . . . What the fuck are you still doing here?”

 

I gasped, feeling like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. I refused to let him see me cry, though. I wasn’t going to let him see the full depth of the pain he’d caused me. And if he wanted me gone, he was going to have to have the balls to say it.

 

“Would you care if I wasn’t?” My voice cracked as I asked the question but at least I got it out. 

 

He straightened up and looked me in the eye, his calmness making me even more frantic because I could tell I’d already lost him. “It’s your call where you want to be,” he declared, abdicating all responsibility for whatever was happening to us. “You decide.”

 

And then he just turned his back and walked away. 

  
  


So, Brian, in his infinite wisdom, gave me the right to decide my own fate, and left me with no choice. I mean, how could I stay with him after that? He as much as told me that he would never love me. He would never give me what it was I needed. Or at least what I thought I needed at the time. He refused to even say he’d miss me if I were gone.

 

When I walked out the door without saying another word, Brian didn’t even look up from his computer.

 

I raced across town as fast as the the public transportation system would take me, ending up at Ethan‘s door and still not having any clue what I was going to say. Luckily, I was still managing to hold back my tears, hanging onto the tendrils of my anger in an effort to stave off my spiraling emotions. And I was even more glad of that fact when Ethan finally opened the door, clearly in the middle of a towering rage.

 

“Your boyfriend is an asshole!” he screamed at me the minute I was inside and the door closed behind us. 

 

“He’s not an asshole,” I immediately rushed to defend him, not even sure in my own mind why. “He’s honest . . . If, if anyone’s an asshole, I am, for lying.”

 

Unable to counter that assertion of fact, Ethan immediately switched tacks. “How did he find out?” As if that really mattered when we were both clearly guilty and had already been caught red-handed.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You didn’t ask him?”

 

“He’d never tell me.”

 

This seem to incense Ethan even more for some inexplicable reason. “Well you can tell him, from me, that he can keep his fucking donation to the arts,” he insisted, and tossed the $100 tip Brian had given him at my feet. 

 

“Wait. He can afford to give it away. You can’t.” I held the bill out towards Ethan as he paced past me, swigging wine directly from a dusty bottle.

 

Ethan huffed a derisive scoff and sneered down at me. “At least now I know why you’re with him. Fuck, he’s beautiful!” he declared, the words coming out in an almost hungry growl. “He must be great in bed.”

 

Again with trying to compare himself to Brian? What did he expect me to say? I tired of all the day’s shit and I wasn’t going to lie just to stroke Ethan’s ego.

 

“Yeah, he is.”

 

Not unexpectedly, my response didn’t go over so well. Ethan’s face contorted with anger and he reached out to snatch back the money I was still holding in my hand. I should’ve just got up and left then but, me and my big heart, I felt like I had to at least try and make things right. I’d already left one man angry at me that night; I didn’t need to alienate Ethan is well.

 

“It’s when we’re NOT in bed that’s the problem,” I tried to explain. 

 

But apparently that wasn’t the correct answer because Ethan turned on me, set his wine bottle down on the milk crate that substituted for an end table, and snarled at me with such venom I almost didn’t recognize him.

 

“Well guess what? I’m not the answer. I have myself to think about.” He spun around and started shuffling through his sheet music as he continued to speak with his back to me. “The Heifitz competition is coming up. There’s a $25,000 first prize, touring dates, even a possible recording contract. I can’t be wasting my time thinking about YOU. Wishing that you were here. Hoping that tonight is going to be the night that you finally stay.”

 

“I want to stay,” I asserted, knowing that this time it was the truth.

 

“Well you can’t.” He shot me down so fast it left my head spinning. “You can’t! So just go back to your boyfriend!” I’d never seen Ethan so savage before and it actually scared me. “And I’ll go back to my violin.”

 

He picked up his instrument, tucked it under his chin, and proceeded to scrape the bow across the strings with such viciousness that the noise would’ve drowned out any protest I might’ve thought to make.

 

“Ethan. Ethan!” I tried to yell over the music, to no avail.

 

He had his back turned towards me and ignored my very presence. It was clear I wasn’t going to get anywhere with him like that. And once again, I was left to make a decision without having any real choice in the matter. So much for my failed attempt at romance, huh?

 

I turned around, tail between my legs, left behind my irate lover, and made my way back to the loft where I hoped I would still find a place to sleep for the night, if not true acceptance or love.

 

At least Brian hadn’t already change the locks on the door. I slid the giant metal panel open as quietly as I could and slipped inside. The only lights on in the loft were the security lights by the door and the small light over the kitchen sink - a sign Brian must’ve at least hoped I’d be coming back, because those were the lights we usually left on when one of us returned earlier than the other. Peering through the gloom of the darkened room, I could see Brian outlined by a moon beam illuminating his side of the bed. He was awake and there didn’t appear to be any other bodies in the bed with him. I supposed that was a good sign, for whatever it was worth.

 

Brian didn’t get up or say a word as I slowly padded across the floor and up the steps into the bedroom. He just looked at me. I didn’t see any expectation or judgment in his eyes, they just looked blank. Which, in a way, was good, because I’d already had enough humiliation for one night. And, since I didn’t have anywhere else to go, I took a deep breath, tried to bolster whatever fortitude I had left, and started to undress.

 

Brian remained silent the whole time, but when I had stripped down to only my briefs, I hesitated. Was I really going to do this? Did I have no shame at all? Was I seriously going to crawl after a man who had virtually dismissed me just a few hours before? 

 

I almost changed my mind, but half a second before I was about to turn around and give up for good, Brian actually made a small gesture of reconciliation. Silently, without his expression changing a wit, he reached across and lifted the covers up on my side of the bed. The invitation was clear. So I swallowed my pride and crawled into bed next to him. Once I’d lain down, facing away from Brian with my head on the pillow, he resolutely pulled the covers up over me. Then he scooted close enough to spoon me, draping his arm across my body and resting his hand against the bare skin of my forearm so his fingers could tickle along to sensitive skin there. 

 

It was a familiar stance - we’d slept that way a hundred times before - but this time it felt so alien to me that my skin was crawling. I knew I didn’t belong there anymore. The problem was I didn’t belong anywhere. No one wanted me. My parents hadn't wanted me. Brian hadn’t really wanted me either; he only took me in after the bashing because my mother asked him to. Now Ethan didn’t want me either. I had nowhere to go and no one to go to. And at that low moment in my life, I thought I’d reached rock bottom. 

 

So I laid there the rest of the night, unable to sleep, silent tears drenching my pillow, wondering how I’d managed to screw my life up so badly and where I would go come morning.

  
*****************  
  


[ Five Qualities Malignant Narcissists Look For In Their Victims ](https://thoughtcatalog.com/shahida-arabi/2018/01/5-qualities-malignant-narcissists-look-for-in-their-victims-and-how-they-use-them-against-you/) . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/15/15 - Only one more chapter of pure gap filler stuff before I head off into the unknown of my own angsty creation. I’m using these first few chapters to reframe the story to my own uses, hope you’ll bear with me through the process. And in case you’re interested, check out the link at the bottom of the chapter to read an interesting little article that explains how a narcissistic picks his prey. Unfortunately, our Justin fits almost all these criteria... TAG


	6. Rage Against the Machinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't mind a second chapter in one day . . . Here you go - The Rage Launch Party scene. Enjoy! TAG

 

Chapter 6 - Rage Against The Machinations.

  
  


_ How is it that someone I once thought of as a hero of sorts, could eventually turn out to be the monster of my story? _

 

_ Don’t get me wrong, Ethan can be incredibly altruistic when it suits his purposes. He loves to donate time and even, sometimes, money, to ‘good causes’, provided that the recipient of his beneficence is thoroughly appreciative of his noble generosity. It isn’t about the gift that is given or the need of the donee; it’s about Ethan portraying himself as the Giver. So, yes, Ethan can be generous, but only when his generosity will reflect back on him. _

 

_ In a similar fashion, he’s always loved to play the swashbuckling champion of the downtrodden. He eats up all the gratitude his rescuees inevitably laud him with. Because that’s how he’s always thought of himself. He’s the hero, the daredevil, the brave, romantic prince, always the star of his own fantasies. He likes to pretend that he’s the type to swoop in and save the day. He’s the ONLY one who knows what to do and how to do it. He alone can fix whatever is wrong.  _

 

_ But all his heroism is about himself, not the person he supposedly saves. _

 

_ So, naturally, he would have been drawn to me back then. He no doubt saw me as some romantically disadvantaged naif that needed saving from the big, bad Stud. In his mind Brian was always the bad guy. Brian was the abuser. I was the innocent that needed protecting. And Ethan was the bold adventurer who found me, took me under his wing, and protected me. My predicament, when we first met, fit into Ethan’s personal narrative so well it was ridiculous. _

 

_ Of course, that wasn’t exactly the truth. I wasn’t actually as innocent as Ethan seemed to think I was. Hell, I was a lot more sexually experienced than he was - or will ever be, most likely. And the problems I was having with Brian weren’t all my older lover’s fault. I was young and stupid but I should have stood up for myself a lot more than I did. I know Brian was never one for talking, however he had repeatedly told me that if I wasn’t getting my needs met, I should do something about it. I think, despite his antipathy towards emotionality, he would have respected me more for stepping forward and voicing my concerns, than he did for sitting there meek and quiet while everything fell apart. But the bottom line was that we were BOTH at fault and I really didn’t need a savior as much as I THOUGHT I did. _

 

_ Enter Ethan The Brave.  _

 

_ Ethan came into the picture at just the right time - or, depending on how you look at it, just the wrong time - to take full advantage of the mess I’d made of my relationship with Brian. I was ripe for the swooping and the protecting. And, in my moment of weakness, I even welcomed it. I guess, in my secretly romantic heart, I wanted to be rescued by the big, brave prince and carted off to live happily ever after. Who doesn’t at some point? _

 

_ But, you see, that wasn’t really ME. It was just the me I was at that moment in time when Ethan found me. I actually used to be really independent and, at least before this mess, I chafed at at being under anyone’s control or protection for too long. Brian might have been controlling, but I had never let him control ME. We’d always been equals, despite the difference in our ages. I think that was one of the things that had attracted Brian to me from the beginning. And, while I seem to have lost my way since then, it’s not in my nature to play the obedient and grateful rescuee.  _

 

_ No wonder I wasn’t able to provide Ethan with the requisite gratitude he longed for after he swooped me up. _

  
  


 

*********

 

The mystery of how Brian found out about me and Ethan was solved the very next morning. After getting only a few short hours of sleep the night before, I was barely awake when I shambled through the door of Red Cape Comics in order to be there for the interview Brian had set up with Pittsburgh Out Magazine. I knew I looked like shit, so I didn’t really need Michael to point that fact out to me. But what did he expect? I didn’t feel like shaving - or even showering - when it seemed like my whole world was falling apart. He should have just been happy I managed to dress myself. 

 

However, being Michael, he was incapable of just letting anything go. He had to poke and prod and castigate me. 

 

“Couldn’t you have dressed up a little?” Michael complained.

 

“I’m an artist, not a businessman. I don’t need to wear a suit and tie to impress anyone.”

 

Michael, however, had the temerity to insert Brian into our conversation - because . . . Best Friend and all. “This is for Brian. He went to a lot of trouble for us.”

 

“It’s not for us. It’s for him,” I whinged angrily as I doctored my much-needed coffee. “Brian calls all the shots. Brian controls the show. Including us.”

 

Okay, I realize that sounded incredibly petty but I wasn’t in a very good place that morning, so I should be forgiven for being a pissy little brat, right? Not if you asked, Michael, though. Michael, being who he is, is incapable of seeing any wrong in Brian Kinney. And he regularly declares that fact to anyone in earshot.

 

“If you ask me, he’s been pretty good to you. I mean, he saved your life,” Michael insisted. “He took you in. He’s putting you through school. He protects you. He looks after you, you know.” All of which was absolutely true, but it only pissed me off more to hear Mikey reciting all the reasons why I was beholden to Brian. The next thing he added, though, was a sheer fabrication. “And, whether you believe it or not, he loves you. More than he’s ever loved anyone.”

 

That one hurt. “He doesn’t love me. He fucks me,” I admitted, my anger momentarily overshadowed by sadness again.

 

Michael apparently didn’t like that response, but he couldn’t come up with any facts to counter it either, so instead he went on the attack against me. “Well, then, why don’t you find somebody else . . . Or maybe you already have?” 

 

“He told you?” I was surprised by that, because Brian had never been the type to air his dirty laundry in public - I couldn’t see him revealing the fact that he’d been cheated on, even to Michael.

 

“He never said a word,” Michael insisted. Then he revealed all by defiantly adding, “I told him.”

 

That left me speechless for a moment. How the fuck did Michael find out? And, even if he had, what fucking business of it was his to interfere? I was totally incensed.

 

“How did YOU know?” I asked, trying to hold in my temper.

 

“I saw the two of you kissing on the street.”

 

“You ASSHOLE!” I fumed at him.

 

And the conversation devolved from there to the point that I was yelling, “Fuck you, Michael. Fuck you!” as I fled the shop, not even stopping to give more than a dismissive curse to the journalists who were supposed to interview us, while I stormed past them and out the door. 

 

So much for my tenuous business partnership with Michael Novotny.

 

I spent the rest of that day wandering around the city, immersed in my morose thoughts and not caring where I was going. It didn’t help though. Despite hours of fruitless wandering and hand wringing, I still didn’t come up with any answers. 

 

Was I going to just stick around forever, taking whatever crumbs of affection Brian thought to drop me? What was the alternative? I didn’t have anywhere else to go. No way was I going to move back in with my mother. Or, worse yet, Debbie. But I didn’t make enough, working part time at the Diner to be able to afford a place of my own. The only way I could manage that would be to quit school and get a full time job, although, without a degree or any relevant experience, I didn’t know what kind of job I’d rate. And what about school - if I left Brian, who was paying my tuition, how would I manage that? There was no way in hell my homophobic dad was ever going to pony up the money to pay for PIFA despite the fact that I knew there was a perfectly good college savings account with my name on it just sitting there in his bank. Craig had washed his hands of me when I moved in with Brian the first time and he wasn’t likely to take me back now that I’d further debased myself. Begging Craig for money was something I wasn’t willing to do even under the straitened circumstances I now found myself in.

 

Fuck! I felt so trapped. And there was no good solution. It was either continue to play my role as Brian’s fuck toy or end up homeless, friendless and careerless. What was the point?

 

I was left with the realization that I didn’t have a choice and there was no point to fighting the inevitable. I had to stay with Brian, at least for the time being, and suck up my indignation at the humiliation I felt. It wasn’t fair, but who said life was supposed to be fair? Or happy? Or even bearable? What else was new? I was screwed and didn’t see any reasonable way out, so I would have to stay. 

 

I managed to straggle back to the loft in time to get a shower and change before heading to Babylon. I was happy to see that Brian had already been there and gone - despite my earlier resolve, I wasn’t looking forward to seeing him. Maybe, eventually, I’d manage to swallow my resentment and anger, but I didn’t think it would be happening anytime soon. 

 

Despite my gloomy mood, I was impressed with what Brian’s marketing genius had put together for the Rage Launch Party. The club was decked out with a forty foot tall Rage banner over the entrance and a stage set up to look like the pivotal street scene from the comic. All guests were handed Ragian-style masks as they arrived and were offered special drinks like ‘Rage-tinis’ or ‘Zephyr-politans’. The atmosphere was festive and expectant. And all my friends and acquaintances were there to cheer me on and celebrate my accomplishment. 

 

I tried to get into the spirit of the evening. I really did. I wanted to forget the shitstorm of my romantic life for just one night. But it wasn’t easy. Mostly because I had to spend a significant amount of time with the man who’d betrayed me through his meddling, my soon-to-be-former creative partner, Michael Novotny. Luckily, there was enough noise and confusion all around us that nobody noticed Michael and I weren’t talking. And it was kinda cool to hear my mother and friends repeatedly telling me how proud they were of me. It was almost enough to make me forget my woes. 

 

I’ve gotta admit that the stage show Brian scripted was pretty cool. He’d hired a group of actors to perform an abbreviated version of the comic’s main story. It was gratifying to see my comic - my vision - played out in front of a huge crowd of cheering people. They all seemed to like it. Especially the end where Rage uses his ‘other’ super powers to revive J.T. with a long, passionate kiss. From the way they all yammered for more at that point, it seemed chances were likely their enthusiasm might translate into people buying the comic. Which was the best news I could hope for. If I could just put a little bit of money aside, maybe I would be able to eventually get myself free of the trap I found myself in. 

 

Brian, for one, was pleased as punch by the reaction he was getting. He was walking around as the play unfolded, bragging to everyone who would listen that he ‘wrote that copy’. When the lights came up and the confetti rained down, the audience literally screamed out their approval. It was looking like the party was a resounding hit on all fronts. 

 

“Well, don’t thank me all at once,” Brian complained when he came up behind where Michael and I had been standing, silently, watching the show without much reaction.

 

“I think I’m gonna get a drink,” Michael, the coward, announced and immediately ran away.

 

“What’s his problem?” Brian asked me, yelling over the pounding of the music as I tried to brush the half a ton of glitter and confetti off of me.

 

“We’re not speaking,” I explained.

 

“Ah. Creative differences?” Brian conjectured with that condescending drawl of his that always grated on my nerves.

 

“Actually, we’re in total agreement . . . He thinks I’m an asshole and I think he’s one,” I replied, turning to look directly at my supposed ‘boyfriend’ for the first time since we’d had it out the night before. 

 

Brian’s disdainful sneer didn’t disappoint. “Well, I just spent a fucking fortune on this . . .” he looked around him at the jubilation of the party, “. . . so, sort it out!”

 

I wasn’t in a very compliant mood, though, and dared to argue the point. “After what HE told you?” I snarled back, knowing that I didn’t have to elucidate on exactly what my reference to Michael ‘telling’ on me involved. No doubt the two ‘best friends’ had already convened to discuss my reaction from earlier that morning. I was sure Michael had enjoyed gloating to Brian about how I’d fucked up the interview by storming out, not to mention relating everything else I’d said to him, with appropriately derogatory commentary. 

 

Brian treated my gibe with his usual demeaning humor, of course, teasing me in a sing-song voice. “Aww. He was just looking after me. Like Zephyr looks after Rage.” 

 

The fucker. Of course he’d use the one thing that I was actually a little proud of to taunt me. I snorted a huff of unamused laughter but refused to give him the pleasure of any other reaction.

 

“You know, if you want your comic book to be a success,” he continued to lecture me like a child, “you should put your personal feelings aside, and don’t piss on your achievement.”

 

I felt like screaming back at him, ‘no. I don’t have to do that. You’re so much better at pissing on everything I do than I could ever be, aren’t you?’ Only I didn’t get the opportunity. Before I could say anything, Brian was off, striding boldly into the crowd, probably to soak up more admiration for all the many, many wonderful things he’d done for poor, hapless, little Sunshine.

 

If it hadn’t been for Daphne coming along just then and pulling me out onto the dance floor, distracting me from my black mood, I might have left and just gone home. I wished afterwards that I had. Maybe then things would have turned out differently. I know I was really, REALLY angry with Brian at the time, but maybe we would have eventually worked things out. Unfortunately, I stayed and things turned to total shit.

 

Daph and I were just coming off the dance floor three or four songs later, when we ran into Mel and Lindz. They were half-soused and having a great time, partying it up while child-free for a change. They once again complimented me and asked if I was having fun. I gave them some vague, unenthusiastic answer. 

 

“You know, I think Brian’s looking for you,” Lindsey added before I could move off. 

 

“He is?” I couldn’t think of why, since we didn’t really have anything more to say to each other.

 

“Well, of course he is!” Lindz insisted gleefully, which led me to think that the girls, at least, hadn’t been told about my recent indiscretions. 

 

“It’s your big night, Sweetie. I’m sure he wants to share it with you,” Mel asserted. 

 

And for a few minutes, I believed them. I thought - silly me - that maybe Brian had actually relayed that message to them. That, in spite of our troubles and all the evidence to the contrary, he WANTED to celebrate with ME. I guess I was still an optimist back then. Or maybe just gullible. But I believed the girls and so, with a glimmer of hope still flickering in my heart, I went off to find Brian.

 

It quickly became obvious that the girls’ statements had been more wishful projection than fact. Brian wasn’t looking for me. And he wasn’t anywhere to be found on the dance floor, sitting at one of the tables or even standing at the bar. Which left only one other place he COULD be . . . And, perversely, I went there to find him. 

 

I don’t know what I was thinking. What was I going to do? Have it out with him in front of all these people? Scream at him till he admitted he loved me, fell down on his knees, and begged me to forgive him? I suppose I was either delusional or naive. Or maybe just at the end of my rope and without any other options? Whatever it was, I kept going, threading my way through the crowd, all the way down the darkened hallway to the infamous back room. 

 

Which is where, of course, I found my errant boyfriend, lover, sugar daddy, whatever. It was always a foregone conclusion that Brian would be there. Who had I been kidding? And yet it was still a punch to the gut when I made my way around the various couples and threesomes, all fucking or sucking their brains out in sundry states of undress, to find Brian in one of the furthest recesses of that den of iniquity, kneeling on a couch behind the actor who had played Rage, fucking the man’s ass with his usual ruthless abandon. 

 

I stood there and watched for a minute or two, strangely fascinated in the same way a person will repeatedly press on a wound even though it hurts. Brian was oblivious to everything around him, completely focused on achieving his own pleasure. Rage seemed to be enjoying himself too. The irony of watching the personification of my comic book hero essentially fuck himself wasn’t lost on me, but I didn’t have the heart to laugh. Not that I really needed any more proof, but this was even more evidence that Brian didn’t need me around. He was perfectly capable of - as he always put it - getting his needs met. Without me. Even at an event that was purportedly arranged to honor me and my artistic accomplishment, I was merely an afterthought to Brian Kinney. And maybe I didn’t really NEED endless professions of love or flowery romance, but I didn’t need to have Brian’s tricking shoved down my throat like this either. 

 

I’d had enough. I was no longer in the mood to party. I was going to go home, crawl under the covers of Brian’s bed, in Brian’s loft, and cry myself to sleep. Then, the next day, I’d do it all over again. And probably the following day too. But then, when I was all cried out, I would sit down and make a plan about how I could extricate myself from under Brian’s control. Because there was no way I was going to stick around forever after that. 

 

Of course, that was back when I still had at least a modicum of self-respect. 

 

So, I was on my way out, after dodging yet more fans offering their congratulations, when the answer to what I was going to do and where I was going to go simply appeared before me. At the time, I thought it was the perfect solution. A benediction from the gay heavens. And I was too angry and upset and depressed after what had happened with Brian to even pause before I seized on the only out I thought I had.

 

He was standing just inside the main exit, right under the gigantic Rage banner. He looked a little lost amid the sea of sweaty, swaying, half-naked, dancing men. But to me he looked beautiful. He looked like a lifeline. A way out of the trap I felt was closing in around me. 

 

Ethan was there!

 

When he caught sight of me he smiled that engaging smile of his and held up his Rage mask to his face. He was teasing me but this kind of teasing I liked. He must have forgiven me for the night before or he wouldn’t have shown up here. I felt the first real smile I’d had all day bloom on my face as I walked the last few paces towards him. 

 

I pulled the mask away from his eyes so I could look at him and he gave me his ‘serious’ look. “I was practising the Beethoven,” he started off with what seemed like a total non sequitur. “It sounded like shit. And then I realized, it’s all your fault.” 

 

I could tell by the hint of a smile on his face that he was kidding, despite the harsh words - words which echoed our first meeting at that recital so many weeks before. 

 

“My fault?”

 

“I tried to forget about you, but I can’t,” he declared. “You’re ALL I think about.” 

 

And my heart melted. 

 

Before I knew it, we were kissing. Right there in the middle of Babylon. In the middle of the fucking party that Brian had spent all that money on to celebrate the launch of my comic book. In the midst of a couple hundred guys, all of whom knew me and knew that I was supposedly Brian’s property. But I didn’t care. 

 

All I was aware of at the time was the way Ethan had pulled my face over to his own as he claimed my lips with a possessiveness that felt so good. He wanted me. I could feel it in his kiss. SOMEONE wanted ME! Finally! And he’d said that I was the only thing he could think about. That he couldn’t forget me. He had come there, that night, specifically to find and claim ME! The world vanished and all of a sudden it was just the two of us. I never wanted him to stop kissing me.

 

I have no idea how long Brian was standing there, behind us, watching the spectacle we were creating. I was too focused on Ethan’s kiss to care. It wasn’t until I realized that Ethan was looking over my shoulder while kissing me, that I became conscious of my surroundings once more. I was curious what Ethan was looking at, since it wasn’t me. I pulled back and twisted my neck around till I found what Ethan had been focused on. 

 

It was Brian, of course. 

 

My two lovers had been caught in a stare-off over my shoulder the whole time. Brian was wearing an unreadable expression, his eyes partially hidden by the silly Rage mask and his lips set in a neutral line that gave nothing away. Ethan, on the other hand, was smirking. With my hand resting against Ethan’s chest, I could feel his barely restrained glee over the fact that he had won. I had finally chosen HIM over Brian. I’m sure he got quite a thrill at the thought of stealing me away from a sex god like Brian Kinney. What he didn’t know, and I sure as shit wasn’t going to mention, was that he’d only really won by default after Brian had basically thrown me away. But I’d learned my lesson the night before and I wasn’t going to screw this up again.

 

Finally, Brian moved, reaching up to yank off the little mask. Then he turned back so he could look directly at me. He had this enigmatic little smile on his face that even I, with all my experience in reading Kinney expressions, couldn’t decipher. At the time I interpreted it as a sort of dare; something along the lines of, ‘are you sure this is what you want, Sonny Boy?’ When I later looked back on the moment, I realized I probably read him wrong. It was probably his attempt to cover up the fact that he was embarrassed by my blatant public rejection of him. His way of showing the crowd that he was too cool to care that his boyfriend was cheating on him. But either way, I don’t think I would have done anything differently right then. He’d told me it was up to me to decide where I wanted to be and I had just made my decision.

 

I hardened my heart, squared my shoulders, and finally showed everyone my choice.

 

I turned my back on Brian and everything that he had meant to me. Ethan pulled me away without another word, guiding me out the door and onward to the new life that awaited me. A life without Brian Kinney. A life that I thought would be everything I’d ever wanted. 

 

A life under the exclusive control of Ethan Gold.

  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/15/18 - Well, that the end of my gap filler scenes. Mostly. I might still throw in a scene or two from Season three, but from here on out it will me all my own story. Get your tissues ready and have your ‘Poor Justin’ comments on stand by. TAG


	7. Inundation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the Rage party begins. Enjoy! TAG

Chapter 7 - Inundated.

 

_ One of the basic premises of any good cult is psychological manipulation. They want you to feel a sense of unity within the confines of their group and thereby win your loyalty. This not only makes the inductee feel like they are part of the group, but serves to isolate them from ‘others’. Which, in turn, reinforces the unity, and on and on and on and on . . . until the victim of the cult has become so entrenched in the group that it’s impossible to leave.  _

 

_ Back in the 1970s, the Unification Church of Sun Myung Moon - otherwise known as the ‘Moonies’ - was particularly adept at using this type of unity-inducing manipulation. Their technique was to make sure that all cult members were always smiling, constantly projecting a positive image to the outside world. Their message was universal love and acceptance. And those they approached, especially disillusioned kids who hadn’t experienced a lot of love in their own lives, were easily taken in by that image. Who wouldn’t want to become a part of all that happiness? The desire to be loved is a basic human need so it isn’t surprising that giving someone tons of positive attention is a great way to win them over to your side. The Moonies’ success with this approach has since been followed up by other cult leaders like Charles Manson, Jim Jones and David Koresh.  _

 

_ Social anthropologists have a name for this cultish approach to winning over converts: ‘Love Bombing’. _

 

_ Love Bombing is like weaponized affection. Cults aren’t the only ones who use Love Bombing to their advantage though. There are others who have become equally adept at using this technique on a more individualized basis. Human traffickers and pimps use Love Bombing to recruit sex workers by lavishing young men and women with expensive gifts and attention before gradually inducing them to perform sex acts in order to enrich the abusers. Gangs use a modified form of Love Bombing to make their street soldiers think that they will only ever find companionship and support among the like-minded members of the gang. In these cases, the love bombing is a coordinated group effort, with the group’s leader directing the followers to flood new members with feigned flattery, affection and praise, and then, once the newbie is roped in, they can do whatever they want with them. _

 

_ When Love Bombing is used by an individual, however, that’s when its at its most insidious. Its most abusive. That’s when you get domestic abusers who intentionally use a victim’s emotional needs to take advantage of them both emotionally and physically. This group includes, not surprisingly, the malignant narcissists of the world - the kind of abusers who thrive off the love and devotion of their prey. These abusers tend to be particularly adept at Love Bombing to win the initial confidence of their partners. They idealize the love interest they go after, putting them up on a pedestal, and making the object of their attentions feel like the abuser adores them.  _

 

_ Of course, this Idealization phase never lasts. It can’t. Because the narcissist needs to be the center of their own world. They only pretend that the victim is important until they start to receive the attention they desire. Once they’ve won over their victim, all is good . . . until, inevitably, something happens to break apart the perfect illusion they’ve created. When the victim starts to notice the smothering attention they’re subjected to, and attempts to withdraw, then the narcissist gets angry.  _

 

_ Hence the Idealization phase morphs into the Devaluation phase. _

 

_ The lesson here is that, when something’s too good to believe, don’t believe it. When someone bombards you with over-the-top love and affection, smothers you with verbal seduction, and pressures you for rapid and total commitment, you should be worried. Stop and think about things before you jump into such a relationship. Don’t let yourself be rushed. See the Love Bombing for what it is . . . just another tool that an abuser will use to control you. _

 

_ Protect yourself while you can, or else you’ll end up like me. _

  
  


That first night after I left the Rage party with Ethan was heaven. 

 

Ethan was so considerate, so attentive, so solicitous of me. He kept asking if I was okay. He pressed me to talk about what had just happened. He told me how worried he was and that he understood how hard the decision I had made must have been. He said he just wanted to hold me and kiss me until I felt better. 

 

Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated all the attention and the show of support. The difference between Brian’s taciturn refusal to ever discuss ANYTHING emotional and Ethan’s effusions of sentiment wasn’t lost on me. Strangely enough, though, I didn’t really want to talk about it all that much. Yes, I was devastated by Brian’s seeming betrayal and the collapse of a relationship I’d been striving at for two long years, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. I had made my decision and going through the play-by-play afterwards wasn’t going to change things or make me feel any better. What I wanted was to get on with my life and move past that pain.

 

So it struck me as kind of odd that Ethan wanted to talk about it all so desperately. He simply refused to stop pressing. Apparently he wanted to hear all gory details. So I relented enough to give him the basics - I told him how I’d found Brian fucking his alter-ego in the backroom on the one night that I thought should be about me and my achievement and how disillusioned that had left me. 

 

Ethan voiced the appropriate amounts of sympathy, of course, but with a bit of gloating thrown in. He seemed thrilled by the fact that he’d ‘won’ me away from Brian. That he had been the better man. He was the caring, empathic one and Brian was the total asshole who couldn’t keep it in his pants for even one night. I was too tired and emotionally worn out to dispute Ethan’s skewed view of the events. I let him think what he would. I just wanted to move on.

 

“I don’t want to talk about Brian anymore,” I finally insisted, getting up from the ratty old sofa and turning to pull Ethan up after me. “I’m with YOU now and I want to start off our new life together on a positive note. I don’t want to think about anything negative. So, please, just take me to bed and make love to me until I completely forget about the bad parts of tonight.”

 

So he did. Ethan kissed me and led me to his bed. Then he spent the rest of the night making slow, tender, passionate love to me. And it was almost enough to make me forget about Brian.

 

Almost.

 

The next morning, the lovefest continued. Ethan was effusive with his praise about just how wonderful the night before had been. First he woke me with a naked violin serenade.

 

“I promised I’d serenade you awake, didn’t I?” he simpered, setting aside the fiddle and climbing back into bed with me as I stretched.  

 

We kissed, and I could feel how enthusiastic he was despite the early hour of the morning but, since I was too sore to indulge him yet again, I went with a tried and true distraction technique . . . Food. 

 

“You also promised me breakfast in bed.”

 

“Aha!” he chuckled and then lifted up the tray he’d stashed on the floor next to the bed. 

 

I shifted up onto my elbow so I could look over the edge of the large plastic tray draped elegantly with a white cloth napkin. On the tray was a display consisting of half a dozen chocolate truffles and one red rose. Okay, so, yeah it was romantic, but as breakfasts go it was . . . insufficient. I was fucking starving. Not that I would say something so rude to my new lover.

 

“Dark chocolate?” I asked as I reached for a truffle.

 

“Is there any other kind?” Ethan enthused.

 

I quickly popped one chocolate in my mouth, silently wishing instead for an extra large mocha and a cheese bagel with turkey and swiss. Brian had always kidded me about the monster that lived in my stomach and how it controlled my life. But, at the same time, he had always made sure to have food available in the loft when I was around, even though he didn’t eat that much himself. Brian also understood not to get between me and my breakfast - food was the one thing I would turn down sex for. That fact was something I supposed Ethan would have to learn about me over time. 

 

“I can’t believe you’re finally here,” Ethan insisted, distracting me from my meager breakfast by running his hands through my hair. “That we actually spent the entire night together.”

 

He dove in and started kissing me yet again. So much for my truffle breakfast in bed, huh? But I couldn’t fault him for his eagerness. When my stomach growled in the middle of Ethan’s newest assault, though, I realized I needed to take action.

 

“I’m here, but I can’t stay,” I declared, tossing the little paper wrapper from the one truffle I’d been allowed to ingest back onto the tray and squirming out from under Ethan. Ethan grumbled but I ignored him as I gathered up my clothing. “I have to go to class, then to work . . . Oh, I also have to pick up my stuff.”

 

That seemed to finally get Ethan’s attention. “What if HE’S there?” Ethan asked, watching me with a pensive expression as he I dressed.

 

“What if he is?” I rejoined, trying to sound nonchalant. “I don’t care. I’m with you now. Right?”

 

Ethan sighed but didn’t say anything. He did roll over, grab the rose off the breakfast tray and, after sniffing it briefly, handed it to me. I accepted his symbolic gesture, internally marvelling at the ease with which THIS man dealt out all manner of romantic tokens as compared to my last lover. Of course I couldn’t just leave Ethan after that, no matter how hungry or busy I was. Without even a word, he had clearly and effectively asserted his new ascendancy over me. I knelt in front of Ethan on the bed, tossed aside the rose, and let him drag me back down to the bed one more time. 

 

And, if I saw that this was just Ethan’s way to assert his ownership of me one last time before I went back to my old life, I didn’t fight it. I figured it was just further evidence of how much he cared about me. I chose to read his actions as overwhelming affection rather than possessiveness. I wanted to see only the positive in this new relationship I was now committed to. So I let him make love to me one last time and tried not to think about how hungry I was or that I was going to be late to class.

  
  


That afternoon I snuck into the loft to retrieve all my stuff. Thank fuck that Brian was out, because I don’t know what I would have said to him. It was difficult enough just being there without having to confront my ex-lover. I tried to simply grab all my clothing as quickly as possible while ignoring the memories that tried to assail me from every direction. 

 

I wasn’t completely successful. 

 

The problem was that, everywhere I looked, I saw US. I saw us fucking on the chaise lounge in the corner - a favorite place for Brian and I to indulge in a special dessert of ice cream kisses and blow jobs. I saw us in the bathroom, indulging in our usual morning (and sometimes evening too) ritual shower sex. And, of course, I saw us on the altar of Brian’s bed, in all the many permutations of our always satisfying sex life. Yes, there were bad memories hidden in the dark corners of this space as well, but the good memories far outnumbered them. 

 

It was the good memories that I fled from as soon as I’d scrabbled together enough clothing and school supplies to get by for the time being. I figured I could always come back for the rest later. I simply had to get out of there as fast as I could, or risk my resolve to end that phase of my life crumbling to dust. 

 

Not that Ethan would have let that happen. Nope, he wasn’t taking any chances. In fact, I found him waiting for me on the street outside the loft when I came out. 

 

At the time I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or flattered. Ethan spouted off a quick explanation that he had missed me - even though we had been separated barely three hours by that point - and that he figured I might need some help carrying my stuff, so he’d come after me to offer a hand. I was glad of the assistance, to be honest, since I really did have my hands full. I handed off my duffle bag to him while I kept hold of my messenger bag and art portfolio. 

 

What I was NOT prepared for was the how upset Ethan got when he commented on how few possessions I had and I confessed that I hadn’t wanted to take the time to get everything just then so I’d just come back later for the rest. Apparently my new lover didn’t think much of that idea. He immediately stopped me and insisted we go back and get the rest right away. He was adamant about it too. 

 

“It doesn’t make any sense to do multiple trips, Baby,” Ethan maintained even after I tried to explain that it was no big deal to come back another day. “It’s better to just get all your stuff now. That way you never have to think about that despicable asshole again. You’ve suffered enough abuse at his hands. Let’s just get this over with.”

 

Even as angry as I still was, I didn’t like hearing Brian spoken about that way. I almost spoke up to defend him. Maybe it was just too soon, but it felt wrong to have Ethan dissing Brian so ferociously. But I just bit my tongue and continued walking down the block.

 

“I can’t deal with that now. I have to get to work,” I excused myself. “Now that I don’t have Brian’s money to fall back on, I need to get in as many hours as I can. Maybe Deb will be able to schedule me for some more weekend hours . . .” 

 

“You don’t need to worry about that, Sweetie. We’ll get by. We can live on love, right?” Ethan tried to reassure me, but his efforts fell immediately flat. 

 

“Love doesn’t buy groceries, Ethan,” I argued, a little snippy maybe because I still hadn’t had a real meal and low blood sugar will do that to me. 

 

I guess that was a good enough argument though, since Ethan shut up after that and just trotted along at my side for the rest of the short walk to the Diner. I was glad that he’d finally fallen silent because I was too stressed out to deal with inane chatter. I wasn’t looking forward to my shift. I knew that it was highly likely that the gang would be there - Saturday afternoons were a regular hangout time for them, once they’d all finished at the gym or accomplished whatever other errands they had planned for the day. It was going to be incredibly awkward. At the very least, I hoped that Brian might have become caught up at work or something, or maybe he’d do the considerate thing for once and not show up to spare my feelings. His presence was sure to take matters to a whole other level embarrassing.

 

But, either way, what I really did NOT need was Ethan hanging out with me while I confronted Brian and my friends for the first time after I’d very publicly walked out on my former lover the night before. So I made a point of asking Ethan if he could take all my stuff back to his apartment for me. I fibbed a little, telling him that there wasn’t really anywhere for me to keep all my bags at the Diner. I even pretended that I was worried I’d get in trouble if I brought it inside. Thankfully, Ethan bought the act and readily agreed to take my bags back to his apartment for me. Thankful and ready to be temporarily rid of him, I kissed Ethan goodbye and handed off everything except my messenger bag before I squared my shoulders and resigned myself to heading into the Diner to meet my fate.

 

But, because my luck completely sucks even at the best of times, it wasn’t surprising that the entire gang - including even the girls - was there, all of them silently watching me as I walked through the door. The girls, Emmett and Ted were all sitting in one booth, busily noshing on their lunches as I walked by. Brian and Michael were in the next booth over, also watching me intently. My eyes met Brian’s right away - we’d always had a sort of sixth sense about each other - and I was unable to look away even then. But he didn’t say anything so I didn’t either. I could feel the unspoken criticism wafting in the air around me even as I picked up a clean apron from behind the counter and started to tie it around my waist. The silence was so heavy, it felt like you could drown in it.

 

Thankfully Debbie broke up the moment of tension. “You gonna just stand there, or you gonna get to work?” she asked me, popping her gum as she offered me up a half-smile of acceptance.

I sighed and moved off to go start unloading one of the bus tubs.

 

The rest of my shift passed by in a similar vein. Pretty much everywhere I looked I saw sympathetic expressions but nobody was ready to speak up or say anything about what had happened the night before at Babylon. Everyone was meticulously polite. Everyone was kind in a sort of arms-length way. But nobody SAID anything to me beyond giving me their orders or thanking me for their food. It felt so alien. The entire ambiance of the Diner was tilted towards the strange that afternoon. And there was nothing I could do about it.

 

The gang all cleared out fairly quickly after I appeared. Brian stayed only long enough to finish the cup of coffee he’d been drinking when I came in. He shrugged off Michael’s repeated - and overtly pointed - questions about whether he was ‘all right’, saying he wanted to get home and change. He did leave me a ten dollar tip for a two dollar cup of coffee though. Typical Brian. The rest of them ate up as quickly as they could and bustled off within minutes of Brian’s departure, voicing stiled goodbyes as they left. It seemed like Brian had won custody of all our friends in the breakup. I had expected as much, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still hurt. 

 

Debbie was the only one who refused to take sides. She made a point of not treating me any different than she would have on any other day - right down to making me take my turn on all the nastier chores, like cleaning the restrooms, scraping the grease traps on the huge industrial fryer, and taking out the mountain of trash that had accumulated by the kitchen door. Same old Debbie. At least I had her, right?

 

It wasn’t till right before the end of my shift that things really started to go south. I was on that trash run, lugging out the six huge garbage bags full of sludge to the dumpster in the back, when Michael reappeared behind me. I could tell the minute he spoke to me that this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Michael always did have a malicious temper. What had I expected? It was a given he’d come to the defense of his ‘Best Friend’ and give me the ‘talking to’ he figured I deserved. 

 

“What do you want?” I asked as soon as I felt him hovering behind me, figuring I might as well get it over with.

 

“Well, it’s such a lovely day, I thought I’d go for a stroll,” he answered facetiously. “You know, take in the sights . . .”

 

“Like me, throwing out garbage?” I suggested as I hefted another of the heavy black plastic trash bags over my head and heaved it into the dumpster.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re so good at dumping things.”

 

I shot him a scornful glance over my shoulder but didn’t bother to answer him, knowing it would only exacerbate things. I didn’t have to wait more than fifteen seconds for his next salvo either. It was clear he was itching for an argument; standing there, leaning against the corner of the building, his arms crossed in an aggressive posture, and that more-righteous-than-thou judgmental smirk that I had always detested on his face. 

 

“You didn’t have to walk out on him like that in front of everyone, you know,” Michael continued. 

 

“I would have told him to go fuck himself, but he was already doing that in the back room with Rage,” I shot back, letting the anger that I thought I’d almost conquered bubble up again.

 

“How can you be such a shit?” Michael fumed, predictably taking Brian’s side without even considering how I had felt. “After all he’s done for you?”

 

I interrupted Michael before he could, once again, begin to list all the many reasons I owed Brian my gratitude. “I know what he’s done for me!”

 

“You knew who he was right from the beginning.”

 

“Yeah. You’re the one who told me,” I replied, already fed up with this conversation. 

 

“Did you think that you could change him? That he would change for YOU?” 

 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I insisted as I tossed in the last of the trash bags and started to close the lid on the dumpster.

 

But Michael wasn’t ready to stop berating me yet. “Of course not. It’s over. On to the next. You got what you wanted . . .”

 

“So did you!” I turned on him, ready to go on the offensive if that’s what it would take to shut him the fuck up. “From the first night that we met, and he took me home and fucked me, you have wanted me gone.” I moved closer so I could shout my final words directly in his face. “Well, Mikey, you finally got your wish. There’s nothing standing in your way anymore. He’s all yours!”

 

Michael started spluttering, trying to come up with some lukewarm denial of a fact we both knew was true, but I wasn’t going to stand around and wait to hear his lies. I turned my back on him and took a step towards the entrance to the Diner. I guess I’d poked the bear one time too many, though, because Michael was more riled up than I’d ever seen him. He grabbed hold of my elbow, refusing to let me escape, and pulled me back around to face him.

“You know, since you’re no longer with Brian, there’s really no reason for you to be here, is there?” he growled at me, shooting daggers with his beady little black eyes. “So why don’t you just do us all a favor, including yourself, and disappear!”

 

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that? I can’t say it didn’t hurt. I know that Michael and I had never been close, but for a while there, when we were working together on the comic, I’d thought we were starting to develop a friendship of sorts. I’d thought I was becoming more than just Brian’s tag-a-long boytoy. I’d thought that Brian’s friends were, at least to some extent, my friends too. But not according to Michael. According to Michael, I was no longer needed and nobody would miss me if I were gone. 

 

Michael couldn’t have found a more cutting way to attack me if he’d tried.

 

Since the night I’d met Brian, my life had been filled with chaos. He’d outed me at school the next morning when he dropped me off at school in a Jeep spray painted ‘Faggot’. That had led directly to my being bullied and ostracized at school and, indirectly, to first my mother and then my father finding out I was gay. As a result, I was kicked out of my home before I’d even graduated from high school. After that I’d gone from one unstable living situation to the next. First to Brian’s, then to Debbie’s, then back to my mother’s after I was bashed, then to Brian’s again. For the past two years I had never felt fully accepted anywhere I went. And now, it seemed, not only was I having to up end my living arrangements yet again, but I was also being cut out of the lives of the people that I’d thought were my friends. The one group that I thought would accept me for who I was. The people that I had assumed would stand by me. The only constant that I’d had since that momentous day when my whole life had started to change.

 

I was devastated. How could I not be? And, yeah, to a certain extent I knew that Michael was simply being his vindictive self, so I probably shouldn’t take what he was saying to heart, but it still hurt like fuck. And, because of the way the gang had given me the silent treatment earlier in the day, it seemed like Michael wasn’t the only one who held that opinion. They could have said something to me. They could have voiced some support. They could have offered me a tiny little olive branch. But they hadn’t. Not one of them had said a fucking word to me. Except for Michael, who purported to speak for the collective in telling me to disappear.

 

I didn’t want to believe Michael spoke for all the rest, but after the last few, tumultuous weeks, I felt so unsure of myself and my position amongst this group, that I just couldn’t fight it. I didn’t have the strength to argue with Michael. Fine. If he wanted me gone, who was I to quibble? 

 

So I walked into the Diner, threw my apron in the laundry bin, and told Kiki that I was quitting. “Be sure and tell Debbie I said ‘goodbye’,” I reminded her as I picked up my messenger bag and walked out the door for what I assumed would be the last time. 

 

The only thing that kept me from totally losing it as I walked away from a place that had come to feel like a safe haven was the fact that Ethan was waiting for me at the corner. He offered up a brilliant smile in welcome and held his arms out for me. I was so grateful that I at least had this one thing, that I willingly let him envelope me in his caring embrace. Right then I didn’t know what I would have done without Ethan to fall back on. It seemed like he was the only one still there for me. The only one I could rely on. My only friend. 

 

So I let Ethan take me back to his apartment and lavish me with care. He made me dinner - or at least what passed for dinner when you only had a small hot plate and a toaster to cook with - filled me with enough cheap wine to get me semi-tipsy, and listened to me while I ranted on about how shitty my day had been. For once Ethan simply sat and listened to me without saying much. Whenever he did speak up it was to tell me that I had been right to take offense at my friends’ actions. He called them names and told me I was too good for them. He told me that I didn’t need them.

 

When I’d finally got it all out, though, I immediately started to regret my hasty actions. It was bad enough that I’d just walked out on my lover and lost virtually all of my friends, but I’d also quit my job without having first found something else to tide me over. That meant I was effectively broke. What little I had in savings wouldn’t last me even a month, especially if I started paying my half of the living expenses with Ethan. What the fuck had I been thinking? 

 

“Shit!” I moaned when this realization hit me.

 

“Shhh. It’ll be okay, Baby,” Ethan crooned, hugging me closer to his chest as we sat together on the ratty old sofa. “You don’t need those losers.”

 

“No. It’s not that,” I struggled to free myself from his embrace. “I don’t give a shit about them. But I DO need that fucking job.” I got up and started pacing around the tiny room as I worked through what I was going to do. “I can’t just quit and walk away. I have no other source of income. How am I going to pay for food and art shit and school and everything else? How am I going to help out with the expenses for this place if I don’t have a fucking job? Fuck! I’m going to have to just suck it and go back there tomorrow and beg Debbie to give me back my job. I don’t have any fucking choice.”

 

“You can’t do that!” Ethan got up from the couch, standing in my path and insisting I look at him. “You shouldn’t have to go back to that place and abase yourself to people that don’t appreciate you. They don’t deserve you, Baby. And you don’t need them or their fucking job. We’ll figure out another way to get by.” Ethan grabbed me again and took me in his arms. “You’ll find a new job. A better job. And in the meantime, I’ll take care of you, Jus. I promise. It’s just you and me, now. Right?” 

 

What was I supposed to say to that? Ethan was my only remaining lifeline. He’d taken me in when Brian had betrayed me. He’d given me a place to live and total acceptance. How could I tell him no when he was offering to take care of me, even though I still had a lot of misgivings about that arrangement?

 

So I said nothing and simply let my new boyfriend bundle me off to bed where he spent the rest of the evening showing me, with his words and his body, how much he adored me. And it was good. He made me feel special. He made it seem like I was perfect and all those people who didn’t see it were blind. It was really nice. It was what I’d always wanted, right? To be pampered? To be deluged with endless support and love?  

 

Even though, in the back of my mind, there was this little voice that protested just a little bit at being so inundated with love that it felt like I was being smothered. 

***********

  
Chapter 7 End Notes -  [ The Dangers of Love Bombing ](https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/reading-between-the-headlines/201703/the-danger-manipulative-love-bombing-in-relationship) . 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 7/22/18 - These are the salad days for Justin and Ethan. Everything looks great. Right? Then why does it seem so weird the way Ethan has insinuated himself into Justin’s life so completely in such a short period of time. Why is he always following Justin around? How does he always know to say what Justin wants him to say? Remember when your Grandmother told you that anything that seemed too good to be true probably was . . . ? TAG


	8. Salad Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin and Ethan begin to settle into their new life together... Enjoy! TAG

  
  


Chapter 8 - Salad Days.

  
  


_ We’ve probably all heard the parable of the boiling frog, right? The premise of the story goes that, if you place a frog in a pot of boiling water it will immediately react by jumping out and saving itself, but if, instead, you put a frog in a pot of tepid water and then slowly turn up the heat, it won’t realize how much danger it’s in till it’s too late. The slowly simmering frog will keep swimming around in the pot until it boils to death.  _

 

_ The analogy works the same for people too. We are usually so focused on getting through the day to day stuff, the everyday annoyances of regular life, that we often don’t stop to see the bigger picture. If you’re not paying attention, you might just brush off more gradual changes in behavior or relationships, not even seeing them for the warning signs they are. And, before you know it, the person you thought was a loving, caring, ‘soul mate’, has turned into someone who’s a controlling, manipulative abuser. _

 

_ Admittedly, I hadn’t kissed many frogs myself, but then again, I’d started off by landing a Prince right off the bat. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t prepared to deal with the frog - boiling or otherwise. But it’s true. No matter how crass Brian could be, he was never anything other than honest and straightforward with me. He never promised me anything that he wasn’t prepared to follow through on. And he DID show me how much he cared by way of his actions, even at the same time as he refused to give me the words I begged for. And, no, Brian wasn’t perfect - he was FAR from perfect - but isn’t that normal for human beings? Nobody’s perfect. Not real people, at least.  _

 

_ So why wasn’t I more suspicious when I seemingly met someone that SEEMED perfect? Because that should have sent up warning signs, right? If someone seems perfect, they must be hiding something. There’s no such thing as a perfect lover - not in reality. We all have our faults and our foibles. Anyone that tries to hide those faults from you should be automatically suspect, right? _

 

_ But I guess, in this story, I was the frog not the princess. I thought I’d stumbled on the perfect man for me. Ethan had swept me off my feet, professing love almost from day one, and I’d bought it. After which I blindly brushed aside and overlooked all the tiny inconsistencies, seeing only the perfect image he was trying to project. I didn’t want to see those imperfections. I WANTED my perfect prince. After being showered with flattery and attention, I didn’t want to admit that I could possibly have made a mistake by leaving Brian for Ethan. So I intentionally DIDN’T look at the cracks in the facade.  _

 

_ And the little changes were exceptionally easy to overlook, too. The professions of love gradually cooled, but that was normal in any relationship, right? The hardships of financial worry set in, but everyone goes through rough patches and we’d get over that. _

_ The little arguments that every couple faces weren’t all that worrisome, even if Ethan’s reactions sometimes seemed a little overboard. And he’d always apologize profusely afterwards and we’d make up.  _

 

_ Unfortunately, it eventually became apparent that my life wasn’t a fairytale, it was a horror story, but while the temperature in my pot kept rising, I was happily oblivious. _

  
**********

Every couple argues occasionally, right? I knew that. Hell, Brian and I’d had some absolute blowouts over the years. That’s a normal part of every relationship. So I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that, what with all the stress of me moving into Ethan’s apartment, we would have our first little tiff the very next morning. What did surprise me, though, was how quickly things blew up.

 

After my breakdown the night before, I woke up early on Sunday morning. Like the eternal optimist I used to be, I just wanted to put it all behind me and move on with my life. And my first order of business was to unpack and arrange all my belongings so I could finally settle in to my new living arrangements. This was problematic, however, because in Ethan’s tiny, hole-in-the-wall garrett, there wasn’t much space, even for the meager pile of my few worldly goods. However I did my best with what there was, as was my way.

 

Ethan seemed to have a ton of clothes - even though all of them looked like they were purchased at second-hand shops - and his drawers were packed. I figured I could talk to him later about going through them and thinning out his wardrobe a bit so we had more room. This hadn’t ever been a problem with Brian, who refused to wear anything that was ‘last season’ and was constantly editing his clothing to remove anything that was the least bit worn, frayed or faded. 

 

But in the meantime, as Ethan continued to snore quietly in bed, I went ahead and cleared out one drawer of his bureau, refolding his clothing, and managing to somehow fit his stuff into the three remaining drawers. It was a tight fit, but doable, and it gave me one whole drawer for my drawers. The closet was even more difficult as, not only wasn’t there any room in the tiny space, but there wasn’t a single unused hanger. I didn’t need much room, though, seeing as I only had about five dressier items that needed hanging. So I pulled a couple of Ethan’s bulky coats out of the closet and double hung all my clothing on the two empty hangers. I figured we could just hang our jackets on the hooks by the door for the time being. 

 

Once my clothing had been stowed away, I looked around to find a storage solution for my art stuff. Ethan didn’t have a desk or anything, but there were some makeshift shelves he’d fashioned out of old broken down packing crates and cinder blocks. I shifted around some of the knick-knacks on the shelves, enough to make a space for my neatly stacked art supplies and school books. I didn’t know what to do with my larger drawing pads and stacks of loose drawings, though. I didn’t want to leave my drawings out in the open where they’d be more likely to fade or get damaged, but the one cupboard with drawers seemed stuffed to the gills with Ethan’s sheet music, music books, and supplies for his violin. 

 

I was just in the process of trying to organize some of this, so as to make room in one of the drawers for my artwork, when Ethan woke up. 

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled at me, jumping up out of bed and literally leaping across the room to pull a stack of sheet music out of my hands.

 

“I was just trying to straighten stuff up a little so there’d be room for my drawings.”

 

“I hate it when people touch my stuff. I’ve got my music sorted exactly the way I need it; if you mess with it, I won’t be able to find anything,” Ethan insisted, stuffing the disorganized sheaf of papers - some of which weren’t even aligned in the same direction, let alone being in any type of recognizable order - back into the drawer without even looking at it, and then glowering at me angrily. 

 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to mess up your stuff,” I immediately apologized, a little taken aback by the strong reaction, but trying nonetheless to placate my new roommate. “I was just trying to put away my art supplies and clothes and crap. If you don’t want me to put my drawings in the cupboard, though, that’s fine. Just tell me where you want me to put it.”

 

Ethan was still looking at me belligerently, even though the scene was all kinds of ridiculous seeing as he was buck naked with his hair standing up on end. I didn’t think laughing at him would help matters much, though, so I bit my tongue. Meanwhile, Ethan looked around himself at the cramped little one-room apartment, apparently searching for some solution to my storage problem. Obviously, the pile of over-sized drawings in my hands wasn’t going to fit anywhere but in the cabinet where he also stored his music. But he didn’t seem willing to relent on that point.

 

“There’s no place to put all that shit,” Ethan decided with finality. “Can’t you just store it at school or maybe keep it in your portfolio?”

 

We both looked over at the large black leather portfolio case - a present from Brian on my first day at PIFA - which was lying open on the coffee table. “That would mean me having to lug all of my drawings with me everywhere I go, including back and forth to school everyday,” I tried to explain. “I usually only keep the stuff I’m working on for that day’s classes in my portfolio. The rest, I’d prefer to keep here, where it’s out of the way and safe.”

 

Ethan sighed and scrubbed at his face as if trying to wipe away the remaining cobwebs of sleep. “I don’t know, Justin. There’s just not a lot of room for this shit. But . . . You know, I can’t deal with this kinda crap first thing in the morning.” He looked over at the small alarm clock on the milk crate that served as a nightstand and groaned. “Shit. I’ve got orchestra rehearsal with Sanders in twenty minutes. If I don’t book it now, I’ll be late.” He turned and started pulling on clothing and gathering up his music stuff like a goatee’d whirlwind. “We’ll . . . we’ll figure something out about all your shit later. Just, please, don’t touch my music in the meantime. Okay?”

 

I was getting a little annoyed at the way he was calling my artwork ‘shit’ over and over. As a fellow artist, Ethan should have more respect for my creative output, right? How could he expect me to haul all my finished work around with me everywhere I go? Not only would that be a literal pain, but the risk of my art being damaged or destroyed while I was carting around all my creations, would go up exponentially. How did he not see that? 

 

But, as irritated as I was, it didn’t seem like the time to bring these issues up. Ethan was already mostly dressed and pulling on his coat while babbling about whatever his plans were for the day. All I had time to do was set aside my pile of drawings on the table before he trotted over - almost tripping over Wolfram in the process - taking my face in both hands, and giving me a long, deep, possessive kiss. Then he gathered up his violin - ‘Misha’ - and was out the door without another thought.

 

“So, what should we do now, Wolfram?” I asked the cat who jumped into my lap for a cuddle as soon as I sat down. 

 

I was at a loss for how to spend the rest of my day. Normally, I would be at work by now, having always worked the Sunday Brunch shift - one of the most lucrative of the week - but since I’d thoughtlessly quit my job, I didn’t have any plans. Ethan didn’t want me to mess with his stuff, so I couldn’t finish putting my possessions away. It also didn’t make sense to go get the rest of my stuff from Brian’s until I knew there would be someplace to put it all. I had a couple of assignments for school I could work on, but nothing pressing. So, there I was with the whole day free, but no plans and no money. Not how I had expected to spend my day.

 

Just when I was starting to get totally stressed out about what a mess I’d made of things, I was interrupted by the buzzing of my phone. A quick glance at the screen showed that it was my mother calling. I groaned. I had been hoping to put off talking to her for a few more days, at least until I had figured things out a bit more. But, seeing as I had nothing to do and no excuse NOT to talk to her, I tapped the icon on the screen to accept the call.

 

“Hey, Mom.”

 

“Justin. How ARE you? I just talked to Debbie . . .”

 

I groaned, realizing this call was going to be even worse than I’d anticipated. “I’m fine, Mom. Really.”

 

“She said you and Brian broke up? And you’ve moved in with some other boy? AND you quit your job? That doesn’t sound ‘fine’ to me, Justin!”

 

“I thought you, of all people, would be happy to hear that Brian and I broke up,” I accused. “You never liked him.”

 

“That’s not true, Justin. I admit I never really understood him, or your attraction to someone like that, but Brian did a lot for you after the Prom Incident, and I have to give him credit for stepping up back then. I’ve come to respect him since then. So what happened? You didn’t say anything on Friday night at the Rage party. Tell me what’s going on, Honey.”

 

I sighed and sank back against the threadbare upholstery of the old couch. “It’s a long story, Mom.”

 

“Well, Mothers like long stories,” she insisted, and I could hear the determination in her voice, meaning that I wasn’t going to be able to escape without giving her all the details. “How about I come pick you up and take you out to lunch and you can enlighten me?”

 

I looked down at Wolfram, hoping that he’d offer some viable alternative, but the cat only purred at me. “Sure, Mom. Sounds good. But not the Diner, okay?”

 

A half hour later I was sitting in a little cafe just off the PIFA campus with my mother. Which was good, actually, because I was starving and Ethan didn’t have any real food in the apartment. But the price of my meal was having to explain to my Mom all about the break up with Brian. Thankfully, Debbie had already given her the basics so I only had to fill in the gaps, which I tried to do as succinctly as possible.

 

“Brian and I have been having some problems for a while now, Mom,” I explained. “I don’t want to get into it all, but suffice it to say, I just couldn’t put up with his casual approach to relationships any more.” That was technically correct and still vague enough not to be embarrassing, I thought. “And things sorta came to a head at the Rage party the other night. So, when Ethan showed up and offered me a better alternative, I just . . . I just want more than Brian was willing to offer, you know?”

 

Mom placed her hand on my forearm in one of those wordless motherly gestures of empathy and smiled sadly at me. 

 

“It doesn’t matter, though, because I’m with Ethan now,” I declared with finality. 

 

“Well, if you’re sure,” Mom responded, sounding unconvinced but trying to be supportive. “It’s just that all this seems so sudden, Justin. I’d never even heard of this new boy and now you’re living with him? And you’ve quit your job? Do you have something else lined up? Isn’t that a little bit reckless? From what Debbie said, it doesn’t sound like this new boyfriend will be able to help support you the way Brian did - aren’t you going to need that job?”

 

I’m not sure how to begin responding to the bombardment of questions, but luckily we’re interrupted right then by the appearance of the ‘New Boyfriend’ himself. 

 

“Hey, Baby. I thought that was you,” Ethan gushed, leaning in through doorway of the cafe to smile at me and my mother. When I returned his smile, he took it as an invitation to join us. “I was on my way home from rehearsal and I saw you through the window. I didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

 

“My mother called and offered to take me to brunch, so here we are,” I explained briefly, wondering how he’d managed to track me down here at this out of the way place. “Ethan, this is my mother, Jennifer Taylor. Mom, this is Ethan Gold,” I made the introductions, noting the way Ethan turned his charm on my mother as soon as I announce the connection between us. “Ethan is a violinist in the Performing Arts Program at PIFA.”

 

“It’s nice to meet the mother of my favorite artist,” Ethan intoned, giving my Mom’s hand a special little squeeze before releasing it. 

 

“Well! It’s lovely to meet you too, Ethan. Justin was just telling me all about you,” my WASPish mother replied politely, even though I hadn’t really said anything at all about him yet. “Would you like to join us for breakfast, Ethan? We’ve only just ordered ourselves.”

 

“That would be great. I’m famished. I had to run off to rehearsal this morning without breakfast.”

 

“Rehearsal?” Mother asked, again with the politeness. 

 

“Yeah, I’m first seat violin with the PIFA Philharmonic Orchestra and we have a performance tonight. We’re doing a Tchaikovsky program. It’s not that complicated - I could play those pieces in my sleep - but the wind section can’t seem to figure it out for some reason. That’s woodwinds for you, right? I think it has something to do with all the hot air they blow all the time.” 

 

Ethan and my mother chuckled together over this little joke like old friends. I just sat back and watched while the two of them bonded like there was no tomorrow. Ethan seemed to be laying it on extra thick - complimenting my mother as well as me to an extent that was almost embarrassing. I mean, it was one thing to have him telling ME how beautiful I am, but it felt kinda hinky to have him saying those things about me to my mother. Mom definitely liked it though. She was smiling at him and doing that thing where she touched his arm in an almost flirty way. Hell, I felt almost like I wasn’t needed at the table, what with the way those two hit it off right from the start. Thankfully, I was able to hide my disquiet by focusing on my breakfast while they talked about and around me for the next twenty minutes or so. 

 

“Well, sorry to eat and run like this,” Ethan said the minute he’d finished his Spanish omelet, “but I have to get going. I need to work on my competition piece this afternoon.”

 

“Competition?” Mom looked over at me questioningly.

 

“Ethan is a finalist in the Heiffitz Competition,” I explain. 

 

“Wow, that sounds impressive. You sound like a musical genius.”

 

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that.” Ethan was always agreeable when his talent was being discussed. “But I like to think I inherited it from my Grandfather.”

 

“He was in a concentration camp,” I interject, just so I can be part of the conversation for a change, but all I get for my efforts are confused looks from both my mother and Ethan.

 

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Mom starts to apologize.

 

“It’s okay. Luckily, he survived, and he taught me how to play,” Ethan elaborated with a condescending look my way before he turned his attention back to mom with a smile. “I’m also fortunate to have had parents who paid for all those lessons.” Then he turned to look at me again, almost as if he’d momentarily forgotten I was there, and added, “even though they didn’t have much money.”

 

“Well, how nice to hear someone praising their parents for a change,” my mother commented with a critical smile aimed my way.

 

“I say nice things about you all the time, Mom,” I objected, receiving a disbelieving look from the parent in question. “You’re just not around to hear it.”

 

“Well, anyways, I gotta go. Even us geniuses gotta practice if we’re going to win the Heiffitz, right?” Ethan pushed back his chair and bent to pick up his instrument and his bag.

 

“Good luck. I hope you win,” my mother offered genially.

 

“Me too. Although, just between you and me, I think it’s in the bag,” Ethan asserted with a conspiratorial wink. Then he reached out a hand again, “it was so nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.” 

 

My mother accepted his hand and then, when Ethan leaned in to kiss her cheek deferentially, she actually giggled like a girl. “My pleasure,” Mom replied. 

 

“Thanks again for lunch.” Ethan then turned to me, almost as if I was an afterthought. “And you,” he leaned in to kiss me ostentatiously, despite my mother being present, “I’ll see you at home.”

 

“Yeah,” I answered, not sure how I was supposed to respond in a situation like this, seeing as I’d never actually kissed another man in front of my mother before. 

 

Ethan didn’t seem to notice my awkwardness, though, and he bustled out of the cafe without looking back. When I looked over at my mother - worried that she’d be echoing my unease - she was practically beaming at me. Not what I’d expected, at all.

 

“Well . . .” she chuckled. “He seems like an accomplished young man.”

 

Ethan had obviously won over the mother in law. “Don’t leave out ‘cute’,” I suggested with my own smug grin. 

 

“Very . . .  cute, that is,” Mom agreed with me. But then she had to ruin our moment of rapport by adding, “and certainly more appropriate for you than Brian. Not that I have anything against Brian. If it hadn’t been for him, I don’t know what either one of us would have done . . .”

 

“Do you mind if we don’t talk about him?” I checked her halting recriminations, still not comfortable hearing anyone other than myself criticizing my Ex. “I’m with Ethan now and that’s all that matters.”

 

“Of course,” Mom agreed with me but, of course, she couldn’t just leave it there. “However, we probably DO need to discuss what you’re going to do about your finances, Justin. I’m worried about you quitting your job. You shouldn’t let Brian chase you away from the Diner just because you broke up. You’re going to need that income.” Then she grabbed hold of my hand in that concerned motherly way and looked me in the eyes. “I can help you out a bit, at least for a while, but things are still tight and your father is behind with child support again . . .”

 

“Save your money, Mom. You need to take care of you and Molly,” I insist, giving her hand a squeeze before withdrawing from her. “I’ll be fine. I’m sure I can find another job.”

 

“I hope so, Honey. But what about PIFA? Wasn’t Brian helping you with that?” 

 

And what was I supposed to say to that inquiry? I hadn’t actually thought about that aspect of this mess yet. Without Brian, there was no way I would be able to pay for school next term. Fuck . . .

 

“I’ll . . . I’ll figure something out, I guess,” I tried to reassure her, putting on my ‘brave’ face even though I felt nothing like brave. “I’ve got a couple months. I’m sure something will turn up. And I can talk to the financial aid office at school, maybe, too.”

 

“Okay. I hope it works out, Honey. But if you need my help, please let me know.”

 

And that’s how we left things for the time being. Mom insisted on dropping me off back at Ethan’s apartment, just to see where I was living. I could tell she wasn’t impressed with the accommodations, but she didn’t say anything. Granted, Ethan’s place was a huge step down from Brian’s spacious and tastefully appointed loft. After her previously effusive praise of my new love interest, though, Mom at least had the good grace not to complain about the tacky little studio where I was now living. I mean, what did she expect; if she wanted me to be with the more ‘appropriate’ boyfriend - meaning a kid my own age - she had to expect similar adjustment to my living arrangements.

 

Ethan, whose practicing had been interrupted when Mom and I entered, paused only long enough to shoot an exasperated look my way and then turned his back so he could ignore us while he continued playing. I shrugged at Mom. Oh well, it’s not like I needed to give her a long tour or anything - she could see the entire one-room studio from the doorway, for fuck’s sake. Being a good little WASP, though, Mom took the hint, kissed me goodbye without saying anything more, and then was gone. 

 

After Mom left, I promptly sat down at the kitchen table, pulled out my phone and used it to start on my job search. My options were limited not only by my school schedule and my transportation limitations, but also by the fact that the only prior job experience I had was working part time at the Diner. This was not going to be easy. Not having a real computer made it even more difficult - I couldn’t really prepare a resume using only my phone - but I managed a few online applications that didn’t require any additional paperwork and made a mental note to set aside time to use the computer lab at school the following afternoon. 

 

“Argh!” I heard a particularly ear-splitting screech from the fiddle player in the corner of the room and looked up to find Ethan glaring at me. “You know, it’s not easy to concentrate with you sighing and grumbling under your breath every ten seconds,” he complained.

 

“Sorry. I’m just frustrated by trying to find another job. There’s not a ton out there,” I explained, looking up at him with what I’m sure was a hopeless expression. 

 

“Oh, I forgot to tell you; I may have found you something. Something that’s way better than that greasy spoon Diner you used to slave away at,” Ethan brags with a superior smile. “My buddy, Jeff - he’s second chair oboe in the orchestra - told me the catering service that has the contract at Carnegie Hall is looking for people. Jeff works there sometimes as a bartender, but he can’t work tonight, of course, because we’ll be performing. He said to bring you along tonight and he’ll introduce you to Luke, the manager. So, problem solved, right?”

 

“Catering service? What does that entail?” 

 

“They’re the ones who sell concessions - you know, wine, beer, coffee and stuff - before the show and during intermission. They also do all the special events that are booked at the hall. Jeff says the money kinda sucks but the work is easy. It’s mostly evenings and weekends so it won’t interfere with school. And I’m sure it’s a lot less of a slug than that nasty greasy spoon you were working at. Just think about all those rich old men and women; I’m sure, with a little judicious flirting, you’ll be able to totally score in the tips department. Plus, the best part is, you’ll be able to see me when I’m playing there.”

 

The few times I’d been to the kind of events Ethan was talking about, and seen the catering people, I thought their job looked pretty stressful. They were mobbed by a swarm of stuffy concert goers at intermission, all of whom were in a rush and not very polite. Maybe I was wrong and the concert set was great to work for, though. What the fuck did I know? I probably wouldn’t ever find another casual, amusing, and flexible job like the Diner, no matter how long I looked. And it wasn’t like I had a ton of other options right then.

 

“Okay. I guess I can try that for a while. Thanks, Ethan,” I accepted the proffered job tip with a bit of a forced smile. 

 

“Didn’t I say I was going to take care of you, Baby?” Ethan smiled down on me with a self-satisfied air. “Now, I really need to finish practicing. I have to get through this piece at least one more time, then I can stop and get ready for my concert tonight. And, if you’re a good little boy and don’t interrupt me again, I’ll probably have time to make love to you before we leave. How does that sound?”

 

To be honest, it sounded a lot like when my mother used to tell me to sit still and be quiet when we were in church when I was a child . . . but I wasn’t going to tell my lover that. So, I picked up one of my school books and read quietly while Ethan plowed through a long and rather complicated piece of music. I could tell that the song was technically challenging, but it wasn’t very pleasant to listen to. I didn’t know anything about violin competitions, but if anyone had asked me, I would have advised them to pick something a little less jarring as their selection. But, whatever. Ethan and I were still too new for me to venture such an uneducated opinion. However, it did make it quite difficult for me to study while that caterwauling was going on in the background.

 

And when Ethan finished playing, he did make good on that offer to make love to me. Which was fine. I mean, after the day’s rocky start and the unsettling feelings caused by my foggy employment situation, I wasn’t exactly in the mood. Strange, huh? When had I ever not been in the mood for sex before? With Brian, all he had to do was look at me with that smoldering gaze of his and I was instantly hard. 

 

The realization that I was again comparing Ethan to Brian, though, shocked me enough that I insistently tamped down whatever qualms I had. I needed to move on. I needed to stop comparing what I had then to what I’d had before with Brian. The best way to do that was to seize hold of the moment and go with it. Right?

 

So I let Ethan make love to me, and then we took a bath together and got ready to go to Carnegie Hall, where Ethan introduced me to my new boss while he went off to wow the audiences with his musical genius. 

 

That was my new life. That’s what I had wanted, right? I’d finally got everything that I thought I needed . . . 

  
**********

Chapter 8 End Notes - The analogy of the boiling frog & much of my intro for this chapter comes from this very insightful article by Bree Bonchay:  [ Happily Never After: Decoding Narcissistic Devaluation ](http://www.freefromtoxic.com/2015/06/10/decoding-narcissistic-devaluation/) . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I write this, in my head I’m screaming at Justin to just go back to Brian already. Please. Run, now... Eeek! TAG


	9. Adjustments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Justin settles into his new life with Ethan... :/ TAG

 

Chapter 9 - Adjustments.

  
  


_ Have you ever noticed that, very often, those who come across as incredibly strong, extroverted, confident, and dominant, are actually quite insecure? It seems to be particularly true of those that profess their own superiority the loudest and most vociferously. I wonder if there’s some kind of inverse statistical correlation between how much a person brags about themselves and how seriously insecure they are? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just my personal experience talking. But, regardless, that’s always seemed to be the case for the men in my own life.  _

 

_ Because these types are so incredibly insecure, they’ll never admit this to you or even to themselves, however this internal insecurity is always reflected in a person’s outward behaviors. They may not acknowledge their self-doubt, but their actions always give them away. Perhaps not at first - at first all you see is the braggadociousness, the self-appointed expert, the charmer who lures you in with his wiles. It’s not till much, much later that you start to see the flaws in the perfect exterior.  _

 

_ The narcissist secretly knows, or at least suspects, his own flaws, though. So, since he isn't sure of his own worth, he generally feels compelled to bolster his perceived superiority however he can. To do this, he will often surround himself with people that clearly ARE worthy, insinuating himself in the lives of others to such an extent that he feels like there is worthiness all around him. It’s a narcissist’s way of gaining some much needed respect. It’s why narcissists tend to prey on the beautiful, the intelligent, the talented, and the deserving. _

 

_ Of course even this is never really enough. Especially since surrounding oneself with the truly stellar eventually highlights the unworthiness of the narcissist himself. And his insecurity just can’t handle that comparison. He needs to be the center of attention. The most admired. The best and brightest. Better than anyone else in his sphere of influence. Which isn’t easy when others are judging you and comparing you to someone else all the time.  _

 

_ Hence the dichotomy between the narcissist’s need to surround themselves with perfection and yet want to be perceived as the most perfect of all.  _

 

_ One way to accomplish that - at least for the short term - is to make sure that there’s nobody else around to make that judgment call. He will keep his victim close to him, revelling in the status that connection imparts, but at the same time he wants to keep his partner all to himself. He wants to be the only person in his victim’s life. It makes him feel powerful. It allows him to control what his victim experiences, filter what he wants in their life, manipulate what they experience, overhear all conversations and correct them later. It also allows him to closely monitor his partner’s actions and behaviors in order to judge and discipline them. _

 

_ So, is it any wonder that one of the first things people like that do, is try and separate you from your old friends and family? _

  
  


Despite the uncertain start, the next few days rolled by without too much further outward drama. 

 

I had easily landed the job with the Carnegie Hall catering service - in no small part because of Ethan’s enthusiastic reference - and had worked Sunday and Tuesday nights. I had been right that it wasn’t nearly as fun or as lucrative as working at the Liberty Diner, but at least it was a job, right? I figured it would at least tide me over till I could find something better. And Ethan seemed happy to have me around to show off to his friends in the orchestra when I met up with him after the concert. 

 

I wasn’t so sure about Ethan’s friends, though. I did get a thrill out of the way Ethan introduced me to them; he made a point of telling everyone I was his BOYFRIEND and emphasized repeatedly that I was an extremely talented artist. That felt especially nice as Brian had rarely bothered to take me anywhere and had never introduced me to anyone important, let alone praised my art in public like that. But Ethan’s friends didn’t seem impressed. Actually, they seemed really snobbish and judgmental, but maybe that was just a bad first impression. The bottom line was that they didn’t know anything about visual arts and I didn’t really know anything about music, so there wasn’t much for us to talk about. I figured that was probably a good thing, though, because I really didn’t want to talk about Shostakovich and Locatelli anyway. Mostly I just stood around, smiling inanely, while Ethan chattered, his arm looped possessively around my waist the whole time.

 

Ethan’s good mood lasted well past the time we arrived home late that Sunday evening. He grumbled a little about me having moved his clothing around, claiming he couldn’t find anything the way I’d stuffed everything into the drawers so tightly, but he let it go pretty quickly. And then he took me to bed and I kept him so busy for the rest of the night that he didn’t have time to grouse any more. 

 

Monday and Tuesday were taken up with classes for both of us so we were out of the apartment most of the day. Ethan made a point of showing up to eat lunch with me, crowing to all who would listen about how we were ‘officially’ together now. It was nice not to have to hide our relationship any longer - the whole sneaking around and kissing in doorways thing was never my style - but it was getting a bit annoying to hear Ethan bragging over and over again about how he’d ‘stolen’ me away from Brian. He made it sound like I was merely some trophy he’d won at the county fair. To hear Ethan tell it, it was almost like he’d challenged Brian to a deadly duel for my hand or something. He even made it sound like Brian was abusing me, reiterating how much better off I’d be without him. It actually got annoying enough that I had to get up and walk away at one point before I lost it. 

 

Ethan didn’t seem fazed at all, merely trotting after me and half apologizing for bragging too much. “I can’t help it, Baby. I’m just so happy that you finally came to your senses and realized how perfect we’d be together. And I want to share my happiness with the world. Don’t be angry at me, Babe.”

 

I shook my head and bit back the rebuke I’d meant to levy at him, unable to dash the gleeful puppy dog exuberance I saw. “Can we please just not talk about Brian anymore?” I begged. “He wasn’t the only one at fault in our relationship; I screwed up too. But it doesn’t help to think about it all the time.”

 

“Sorry, Babe.” Ethan was quick to let the topic die, moving on to a discussion about the shift I was working that night for the catering service. “You want me to come by and pick you up after you’re done?”

 

“Why?”

 

“It’ll be late. I don’t want you walking home all alone at that hour,” Ethan asserted.

 

“Ethan . . . I’m not a child. I’m perfectly able to get myself home from work on my own. Shit, I used to work the late shift at the Diner all the time and I wouldn’t get off till after one in the morning. I always made it home fine from there.”

 

“I know, but now that you’ve got me, you don’t have to do shit like that anymore. I care about you, Babe . . . unlike that loser you used to be with.” Ethan just couldn’t seem to let the comments about Brian go. “Which is why I’ll be there to pick you up after work. Okay?”

 

“It’s really NOT necessary, Ethan,” I maintained, trying to be as emphatic as possible without letting my annoyance show too much. “And PLEASE stop calling me ‘Babe’, okay? I hate stupid nicknames.” 

 

“Sorry, Ba . . . Jus,” Ethan laughed at his little slip up but didn’t make a big deal about my annoyance. 

 

And before he could try and press me again about the work thing, my phone started to buzz with an incoming call. I looked at the caller ID, sighing audibly when I saw the name Melanie Marcus on the screen. I hadn't talked to any of the gang since the afternoon I’d walked out of the Diner and I really wasn't in the mood to start now. Mel was likely to just exacerbate the annoyance that Ethan had engendered with all his smack talk about Brian. I really didn't want to listen to her condemning Brian and trying to empathize with me. Not right then. So, instead of accepting the call I tapped on the icon to ignore it and just kept walking towards the building that housed my Animation Basics class. 

 

"Who was that?” Ethan demanded, trying to peek over my shoulder to get a glimpse of my phone. 

 

I quickly shoved the phone into my pocket. “Nobody,” I answered.

 

“Nobody? If it was ‘nobody’ you wouldn't be hiding it from me,” Ethan stated, his voice edging into anger. “It’s HIM isn’t it?”

 

By ‘HIM’ I knew he meant Brian, but it didn’t explain why Ethan thought my former lover would bother calling me. “Brian wouldn’t call me - not after what I did to him,” I explained. “Hell, he barely even called me back when we were together, why the fuck would he be calling me now?”

 

“To steal you back, of course,” Ethan responded, the tone of his voice indicating I must be stupid if I didn’t get that too. “I knew that bastard wasn’t going to give up this easily.”

 

“Ethan . . .” I sighed, turning to face him so I could look him in the eye while I dispelled his obvious misconception. “Brian is NOT going to try and get me back. That’s not Brian. Not at all. He couldn’t give a shit what the fuck I do or who I’m with. He told me as much the night before the Rage party. He said it was my decision where I wanted to be. So you really don’t need to be worried, Ethan. Brian’s never going to chase after me.”

 

Ethan didn’t seem convinced by this assertion, but I was done arguing with him. And thankfully we had arrived at my classroom by that point so I had a good excuse to escape. Before he could interject another word I leaned in, gave him a kiss, and then ducked through the door of the Animation classroom, leaving him scowling in the hallway. Even better, when I was done with that class I managed to slip away from campus without another Ethan encounter - heading off to my new catering job before my musician’s Advanced Music Theory class let out - giving me at least a few hours respite from anyone nagging at me about Brian or my relationship choices. 

 

The event that night at Carnegie Hall had been a science lecture about new advances in Genomics that I found quite intriguing. I managed to listen in to a good portion of the discussion in between my catering duties. It was a lot more interesting than the classical concert from my first night, and I figured if there were more events like this I might actually end up liking the job. Plus, since Ethan and his buddies weren’t around to usurp my attention, I actually got a chance to introduce myself to a few of my co-workers, all of whom seemed like an okay bunch. But, just about the time that a few of them offered an invitation to join them for a drink after we finished the last of the clean up, Ethan appeared at my elbow and insinuated himself into the conversation. 

 

“You weren’t planning on going out tonight, were you, Jus?” he queried, rudely cutting off another speaker in the process. “I mean, it IS kinda late and we both have early classes. I’d think you’d be ready to head home by now, Babe.”

 

I caught a glimpse of Roddy, the shift manager, standing over Ethan’s shoulder and giving my boyfriend a disparaging look. I felt pretty much the same about the way Ethan was so obviously trying to manipulate my time. But we were so new, and my position in his life still felt so tenuous, that I didn’t feel bold enough to stand up to him just then. I also didn’t want to air any dispute we might have in front of my brand new co-workers. So, instead of asserting my independence and insisting on going out, I capitulated and let myself be led away from the rest of the group with only a token offer to go out with them ‘some other time’. 

 

Having got his way, Ethan was all smiles and doting attention for the rest of the walk back to his apartment. He even insisted on carrying my bag for me like I was some 1950s darling he needed to court. If I hadn’t been so irritated by him I might have found it endearing. As it was, I found it to be a tiny bit demeaning. Like I wasn’t capable of carrying my own shit. Or walking home by myself. Or managing my own schedule and knowing when I needed to be home or whether or not it was wise to go out for a drink with friends on a school night. I mean, there was a fine line between concerned caring and smothering behavior, right?

 

Unfortunately, the smothering seemed to win out. As soon as we got home, Ethan was practically all over me. He dumped my bag just inside the door, pinned me to the wall in the entryway, and began kissing me voraciously as he pawed at my clothing. And, not that I wasn’t interested in a little sexual release, but I guess I was still feeling a bit feisty after his performance in front of my co-workers; I definitely wasn’t in the mood to let him control me any longer.

 

By the time we’d made it over to the bed, I had already determined how I wanted this particular fuck to go. Ethan tried to push me backwards onto the lumpy, old mattress, but I stepped aside, twisting around so that I could use his own momentum against him, letting him fall into the piled up bedding instead of me. The look of surprise on Ethan’s face was comical and I laughed quietly to myself as I dug around in the nightstand for a condom and the tube of KY. As soon as I found what I’d been looking for, I climbed onto the bed and crawled over so that I could straddle my lovers hips. Ethan immediately reached up to try and snatch the condom out of my hands but I raised my fist into the air high enough that he couldn’t reach it.

 

“Relax, Babe.” In my snarky mood, I could be forgiven if the pet name came out more like a pejorative than an endearment, right? “This one’s on me.”

 

Ethan broke out laughing. “Yeah, right. Hand that shit over here, bottom boy.”

 

“Not tonight. Tonight I’m going to treat you to a Justin Taylor special. You get to just lay back, relax, and enjoy, while I do all the work,” I explained while I tore open the condom pocket and quickly sheathed myself.

 

But as I started to reach for the lube in order to prepare him, Ethan completely freaked out. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed hard enough that I dropped the KY tube. If his grip hadn’t been so tight it was hurting me, I might’ve actually laughed at the confused and alarmed expression on his face.

 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

 

“Well, I was planning on fucking you, unless you’re no longer in the mood and want to just go straight to sleep,” I explained patiently.

 

“Don’t play stupid. You know what I mean,” Ethan persisted, looking down at my rubber-clad dick with disdain.

 

If he wanted me to spell it out, fine . . . “I’m a top, Ethan,” I insisted, which did nothing to dispel his look of utter disbelief. 

 

“No you’re not. You can’t be.”

 

“I am. I know I’ve bottomed for you up to this point - mostly because it seemed like you preferred it that way - but that’s not really my nature. To be completely honest with you, I’ve always preferred to top.”

 

“Come on, Justin, you don’t expect me to believe that,” Ethan complained, scooting away and sitting up on the bed so he could glower at me more effectively. “There’s no way you actually topped the Stud of Liberty Avenue. Brian Kinney’s not the type to let some inexperienced twink plow his perfect little ass.”

 

I thought briefly about the many times I HAD topped Brian, and it was certainly tempting to trot out all those examples in order to set Ethan straight, but then I hesitated. Brian and I had always had an unspoken agreement that we wouldn’t discuss that particular topic. He’d never told me, in so many words, that I COULDN’T discuss the versatility in our unconventional relationship, but I knew, nonetheless, that Brian wouldn’t appreciate me tattling on him about his willingness to bottom for me. Besides, it was nobody’s business but ours what we had done in bed. Ethan certainly didn’t need to know about it. 

 

“Brian’s a special case,” I equivocated without elaborating. “Other than with him, though, I’ve rarely ever bottomed. Generally speaking, I don’t like to give up that much control.”

 

That news apparently gave Ethan pause. Why did it surprise him so much that I wasn’t a dedicated bottom? I was actually kind of insulted. It seemed almost like he assumed I COULDN’T top. Did he think this thing between my legs was just for show? Apparently so, considering how unconvinced he still acted. 

 

“Look, Ethan, the bottom line - no pun intended - is that I’m just more comfortable being a top. That’s who I am. And I couldn’t change who I am even if I wanted to. So, if we’re going to be together, you’re gonna have to acknowledge that and work with me. Okay?”

 

“So, what you’re saying is, you’ll bottom for HIM but not for me. Is that it?” Ethan growled, sounding so hurt and betrayed it was almost like I’d physically wounded him. “Well, if that’s how you feel, you can just get the fuck out. Because I’m not gonna play second chair to any man. If I’m not good enough to top you, then there’s no reason for you to stick around, is there?”

 

“Shit, Ethan. That’s not what I meant! I didn’t say I would NEVER bottom. And I’m not comparing you to Brian; me wanting to occasionally top has nothing to do with him . . .”

 

“You bottomed for HIM because you loved him, right?”

 

“Well, yeah, I guess . . .” 

 

Of course he didn’t let me finish my thought. Which was probably for the best because Ethan didn’t need me explaining that the other reason I bottomed for Brian was because he was such a phenomenally amazing fucker. There was a good reason why Brian was known around town as the Stud of Liberty Avenue. Sex with Brian, regardless of whether I was on top or bottom, was always memorable. Something I couldn’t say about Ethan. My failure to explain myself fully, however, left the matter open for Ethan’s incorrect assumptions.

 

“But you don’t want to bottom for me. Ergo, you must not love me,” Ethan concluded, scowling at me with his arms crossed over his skinny, naked chest, his posture reminiscent of an angry five-year-old who’d been told he couldn’t have an ice cream cone, assuming, that is, that five-year-olds used pompous words like ‘ergo’.

 

“Ethan,” I groaned with frustration, “you know that’s not true. I wouldn’t be here, with you, if I didn’t care for you.”

 

“Look at you! You won’t even say it. ‘I care for you’? That’s all you’ve got? I’ve flat out said ‘I love you’ a dozen times and you’ve never once said it back. Why are you even here, Justin? Fuck this! Get the hell out . . . just get the hell out of my life!”.

 

Ethan jumped off the bed, stalking around the limited space in the tiny apartment, spitting these harsh words at me, his face getting more and more red as his anger mounted. Meanwhile, I was at a complete loss as to how the situation had escalated so out of control so quickly. How had me wanting to make love to my boyfriend turned into a referendum on whether or not I loved my Ex more than him? I wanted to scream. I wanted to strangle Ethan. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to storm out of there and never come back. But none of those would solve anything. Also, by that point it was after one in the morning and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I had no choice. I had to bite back my own anger and try to placate the Raging Ravel before the situation deteriorated even more.

 

“Ethan. Ethan, please. ETHAN!” I finally had to shout to get his attention, he was that wrapped up in his own angry thoughts. “Ethan, please, let’s not do this. I DO love you. I left Brian to be here with you, didn’t I? Doesn’t that tell you how much you mean to me?”

 

“But you won’t bottom for me . . .” Ethan seemed absolutely stuck on that particular point.

 

“I never said that, Ethan,” I responded with a defeated sigh. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal for you. I mean, it’s not like YOU haven’t bottomed before yourself, right?”

 

“That’s not the point,” Ethan grumbled, stamping his foot to emphasize his point - which, by the way, looks utterly ridiculous when you’re butt naked. “The point is that you don’t love me enough to bottom for me. You did it for HIM but you won’t do it for ME. Can’t you see how much that hurts me, Justin? If you really loved me, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

 

What was I supposed to say to that? The entire premise of this argument was illogical and petty. But it was late, I was tired, and I didn’t want to argue over something so fucking idiotic. And, maybe, he did have a point. I HAD bottomed regularly for Brian. I could see why that fact would make someone like Ethan a little jealous. 

 

It’s not like I objected to bottoming for Ethan - we’d had some decent fucks even if the sex wasn’t phenomenal or anything. But that wasn’t the reason I was with Ethan; if I’d wanted only mind-blowing sex, I would have stayed with Brian. Ethan gave me something other than sex - something I’d thought I needed. He gave me emotion and romance. So what if I didn’t get all my sexual needs met? So what if I didn’t get to top? I would still get off even if I bottomed for him. Any maybe he had a point that, if I REALLY loved him, I wouldn’t feel the need to top? I just couldn’t shake off that little whiff of guilt and self-doubt. 

 

So, to avoid what I perceived as a fruitless argument about something where my lover might conceivably have a point, I caved. I told myself it wasn’t worth fighting about. I also figured that capituating this one time didn’t mean we couldn’t reopen the discussion again later, preferably when my lover was feeling less combative about things. 

 

Taking a deep breath and letting the air out in a long, resigned whoosh, I turned to face my still-irate lover. “You know what, Ethan, you’re right. I don’t need to top if you feel so strongly about it. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just wanted to show how much you mean to me by making love to YOU for a change. But, if you’re not comfortable with that, it’s okay. I don’t need to top that badly.” I crawled off the bed and walked close enough to reach out and pull apart his intransigently crossed arms. “Please don’t be mad, okay? I really don’t want to argue. Can’t we start over?”

 

I managed to grab hold of both his hands and started to tow him back over to the bed. He resisted at first, but I persisted. Thankfully, his sulking didn’t last for long. And why should it when I was giving in to what he’d wanted all along? By the time I’d maneuvered him back onto the mattress, he was reluctantly smiling again. 

 

It didn’t take long after I had stripped the unused condom off my deflated dick, laid myself down next in front of him, and handed him a fresh condom, before Ethan seemed to have completely forgotten the argument. If anything, he was even more enthusiastic about our coupling than usual. It felt like he was pulling out all the stops. Maybe he was trying to show me how great he could make it for me? Or maybe he was just reveling in the fact that he was getting his way? But, regardless, Ethan seem to be thoroughly enjoying his time on top.

 

Meanwhile, I was having a difficult time getting into the mood. I don’t know if it was because I was still keyed up from our argument or if it was just the natural let down after the empty anticipation of getting to top for a change, but I just wasn’t feeling it. The fact that we’d just spent a significant period of time discussing Brian, which had inevitably brought to mind my former lover’s prowess in bed, didn’t help resign me to the less than stellar ministrations of my current lover. So, while Ethan was doing his best to coax me towards what he envisioned as the perfect climax, I was struggling just to stay in the moment. No matter how hard I tried to fight it, though, visions of Brian kept creeping into my mind; the memories of better times easily overshadowing Ethan’s best efforts.

 

After about fifteen minutes of lackluster results, I finally gave up and let myself wallow in my Brian fantasies. Ethan‘s soft, scruffy face, dark eyes, and unwashed curls were replaced in my mind’s eye by a clean-shaven, chiseled jaw, elegantly coiffed hair, and a sparkling hazel-eyed grin. Even better, the skinny, delicate, unathletic body draped over the top of me was swapped out for a much firmer, well-toned, harder body, that owed it’s musculature to long hours spent in the gym rather than days spent sitting around in the music room. And in my imagination that lean, taut body was furiously pounding into me, driving me hard and fast, in a way I’d always loved and which never failed to make me crazy. 

 

Thankfully, that fantasy was more than enough to allow me to ignore Ethan’s more tender, yet tepid, attentions - if not, it probably would have taken hours for us to finish. As it was, I came pretty quickly, with a shout of ecstasy that seemed to trigger Ethan’s own release a minute later. Frankly, I was just glad the whole disconcerting and disappointing day was over so I could roll over and go to sleep. 

  
  


The next day I decided to take my lunch and go hide out in a little park just around the corner from campus instead of going to the cafeteria like I normally would. I realized at the time that it was silly, and I couldn’t escape all my problems that way, but I was just feeling so antisocial. The thought of sitting through yet another lunch with Ethan and all have his musician friends was too much for me. The quiet and solitude of the park was a welcome break.

 

My phone beeped just as I was unpacking the bag full of junk food I’d snagged from a local convenience store, but I really didn’t want to talk to anyone so I let it go to voicemail. All I wanted to do was sit there on the picnic bench in the shade, eat an entire can of Pringles and drink a gargantuan-sized bottle of Diet Coke, while I sketched. Which is what I did, for at least a half hour or so, until I finally felt serene enough to deal with the twenty or so voicemails that I’d been ignoring all week. 

 

Reluctantly, I pushed the speaker button on my phone so I could keep drawing while I listened, and then dialed into my voicemail, hitting ‘play’ on the oldest message first.

 

“Sunshine, you little shit, how dare you quit without even saying one word me . . .” Debbie Novotny‘s voice shrilled angrily out of the speaker. 

 

I tapped at the phone to delete the message without even listening to the rest of it. Then I did the same with the next five calls from Debbie. I knew it wasn’t fair to take out my anger at Michael on his mother, but I still wasn’t ready to deal with either of them. I did listen to the message from my mother, but it was nothing important and I figured I’d just call her back later. There was one short message from Emmett, simply voicing his support and asking me to give him a call later; which was nice, although I wasn’t sure how sincere he was, and right then I was feeling too dispirited to deal with Em’s brand of over-the-top, rosie-hued optimism. The rest of the messages were all about school or work, none of which required a return call, except for the three messages from Brian‘s lesbians. 

 

“Hey, Sweetie. It’s Mel again,” the woman’s voice echoed out of the tiny phone speaker, making her sound brassier than normal. “You know, just because you finally kicked the asshole to the curb - like he deserved, I might add - it doesn’t mean you have to go into witness protection and hide out forever. Lindz has been worrying about you all week. We don’t even know where you’re living these days. So please, at least give us call back and let us know you’re still alive. Oh, and don’t forget, you’re still invited to the anniversary party this weekend. It’s Saturday, at 11:00, at the house. We expect to see you there. Don’t make me track you down and find you. Talk to you later. Bye.”

 

“Who was that?” the quiet voice coming up from behind me without warning startled me so badly that I actually jumped up off the bench at the picnic table where I’d been sitting.

 

“Ethan! Shit! You scared the fuck out of me,” I complained when I my heart finally stopped pounding out of my chest.

 

“Sorry, Babe, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, taking up a seat on the bench next to me. 

 

“What are you doing here? I thought you had rehearsal all afternoon.”

 

“I was looking for you, of course. I missed you at lunch today in the cafeteria. Is everything okay? Why are you hiding out over here?”

 

“I’m not hiding,” I lied. “I just had an assignment I need to work on and I didn’t want to be bugged.”

 

“You could’ve told me where you were going so I wouldn’t worry.” Ethan gave me this look that reminded me so much of my mother chastising me as a child for running off without telling her, that it instantly sparked a moment of resentment. 

 

“Gee, I guess I forgot to put on my GPS ankle monitor when I left the apartment this morning. Speaking of which, how DID you track me down?”

 

“Sheesh. Somebody is in a mood today,” he grumbled pissily as he started to get back to his feet. “Well, excuse me, for actually being worried about my boyfriend when he didn’t show up on time for lunch. I promise never to bother caring again.”

 

For about ten seconds I was tempted to let him go - I guess he was right about me being in a rotten mood - but I just couldn’t do it. It’s just my nature to try and please people, I suppose. Either that or it’s my WASP upbringing that won’t let me be deliberately rude to people. Either way, before Ethan had taken more than two steps I was up, reaching for his hand, and towing him back to the bench with me. 

 

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I just really wanted some peace and quiet to work on my art, you know? Things have been so crazy ever since . . . I was kinda looking for some alone time so I could process it all.”

 

“Aww. Sorry, Babe. I know this has been tough on you. But I can’t help it that I worry about you,” Ethan easily relented, putting his arm around my shoulders to comfort me. “Just tell me if you’re going to run off any hide again, okay?” I sighed and nodded, which seemed enough to placate him. “So, who was that on the phone?”

 

“Just a friend.” I didn’t want to get into the fact that Mel and Lindz were really more Brian’s friends than mine. 

 

“A friend, huh?” Ethan obviously knew there was more that I wasn't telling him. “So what about this party she was inviting you to? You know the orchestra has a performance Saturday night and I’ll be rehearsing all Saturday afternoon, right? We probably can’t make it to any parties.”

 

After all the years of fighting with Brian to get him to even acknowledge that we were a ‘we’, it was surprising how resentful I felt when Ethan just automatically assumed he was included in the invitation. “I can’t just blow them off. Mel and Lindz have been really good friends. Lindsey was instrumental in helping me get into PIFA to start with - she wrote one of my references for me. I can’t miss their Anniversary party.”

 

“Anniversary? They’re married? How old are these friends of yours?”

 

Leave it to Ethan to immediately pick up on the one topic I didn’t want to discuss. “They’re older,” was all I offered.

 

“Hmmm . . . So, that means they’re HIS friends, right? Shit, Justin. How are you ever going to move on with Brian and all his friends constantly trying to lure you back? Well, you’ve got a real life now - you’ve got me - and you don’t have to run after him or his friends looking for scraps of attention. You’ll just have to tell them you’re not going to their fucking party.”

 

I was speechless after that little rant. Mel and Lindz weren’t like that. Hell, Brian wasn’t like that either, for what it was worth. Where did I start in order to dispel all Ethan’s misconceptions? Fuck. So much for my relaxing, peaceful lunch alone, huh?

 

“Ethan, Mel and Lindz have done a lot for me over the years. I’m not going to just bail on their anniversary. But if it bothers you, you don’t have to come with me. I’m perfectly fine going on my own.”

 

“Yeah, right. That’s probably exactly what HE wants - to get you all alone to himself again so he can win you back. Nope. Not gonna happen,” Ethan insisted with a determined glare directed at me, as if I was the one advocating for a reunion with Brian.

 

I wanted to run away but, since that wasn’t practical, I instead tried once more to enlighten my current lover about the state of affairs with my former lover. “Brian isn’t going to try and win me back, Ethan. That’s not Brian. How many times do I have to explain? Brian would never bother with shit like that. And even if he did, it wouldn’t work. I’m with YOU now, Ethan. I chose YOU.” I knew in my heart that there was no going back after what I’d done to Brian, although it seemed like it was going to be a real struggle to try and convince Ethan of that fact. “But, I’m not going to rudely ignore Mel and Lindz’s invitation just because I’m worried about Brian maybe being there. I owe them too much to do that.”

 

“Okay, fine . . . How about this - you can take them over a bottle of wine or some other little gift before the party and make your excuses. I’m sure they’ll understand that you can’t be there the day of. Just tell them you have to work or something. It won’t be a total lie - you are working that night, right? That way they’ll be happy and you won’t have to risk running into HIM. Problem solved, right?”

 

And so it was settled - albeit without much input from me. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I was glad to be getting out of a party that I hadn’t really wanted to go to or not. Granted, I hadn’t been eager to be thrown back in with a group where I’d inevitably have to answer all sorts of uncomfortable questions. But to, in effect, just cut myself from all of them so abruptly didn’t seem right either. Ethan seemed so confident, though, that his plan was the right way to handle things. He seemed convinced that he was helping me out of a tough situation by getting me out of the party. Meanwhile, I was too confused to think things through myself - especially not while Ethan was hovering, not giving me any time to myself to actually do any thinking. Besides, it WAS easier to just go with the flow and not argue with him. Was it any surprise that I let him arrange things for me? 

 

At the time, I guess I just didn’t notice that I’d already fallen into the pattern of letting Ethan decide my life for me. 

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/20/18 - This chapter was a total bitch to write. I simply did NOT want to write the sex scene between Justin and Ethan. Even though I never planned to make it graphic, I still had the hardest time even writing around their sex scene. I didn’t want to write it at all and, because of that, I was totally blocked for the past two weeks. I was only able to make myself write a paragraph or two a day at most. But, it’s a necessary part of this story, so it had to be done. Sorry if it’s totally painful to read. And unfortunately, it’s not going to get better for a while yet... TAG


	10. It’s Not Me, It’s You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ethan begins to separate Justin from his old friends... (Raise your hand if you hate this Ethan already). Enjoy! TAG

  
  


Chapter 10 - It’s Not Me, It’s You.

  
  


_ These days, it seems we’re all amateur psychologists to some extent, myself included. We’ve all watched enough television and movies that everyone has at least some grasp of basic psychology terms and concepts. Hell, even just watching the news today will expose you to a myriad of pundits discussing in great deal the various mental ills of the world and the bad actors we see every day around us. So, it’s not surprising that pretty much everyone has some general understanding of psychological terms like ‘Narcissism’. _

 

_ Another of these increasingly familiar terms is ‘Projection’. The theory behind this concept is simple: a bad person will subconsciously deny his own negative characteristics while at the same time attributing them to another. Any thoughts, motivations, or desires that one can’t accept in oneself are dealt with by being placed in the outside world where they can be derided without injury to the offender’s own, fragile, ego. _

 

_ We’ve all seen it. The less than brilliant person laughing at another and calling them ‘stupid’. Someone who’s widely known to be completely classless throwing a fit and accusing his hostess of being rude over some relatively minor incident. The liar who’s always suspicious that everyone else isn’t being honest. A criminal accusing those around him of the very crimes he’s committed in order to try and deflect blame. Projection is the underlying cause for so many of our societal ills, including bullying, victim blaming and even infidelity. _

 

_ What armchair psychologists don’t realize, is that this projection can go the other way as well. It’s not just the bad guys that project their faults onto good people. It’s also the victims of the bad guys who project their own empathy and compassion onto the people abusing them. We expect to see our own conscience and value systems in others so we just assume that our abusers are basically good people. We want to see good in people and so we do, even if they really are NOT good people.  _

 

_ In this way, the victims of abusers end up facilitating their own exploitation. We accept the toxicity of the narcissist and still try to find the good in them. We enable them. We stay with them far longer than we should because we think that we’re just misinterpreting the danger signs and that, deep down, they really love us and care about us. _

 

_ Of course that’s not true. They really are as malicious as they seem. But we’re just as good at projecting as they are, so we stay until we’re broken. _

  
  


“Oh, hey, Sweetie! Come on in,” Mel gushed as soon as she saw me standing there on her doorstep. “Look who’s here, Honey.”

 

Mel quickly grabbed me by the shoulder and ushered me inside, closing the door behind me as if she was scared I’d escape again if not corralled. 

 

“Justin! It’s about time you turned up,” Lindsey echoed her partner’s greetings, jumping up from the dining table and trotting over to envelope me in a floral-scented hug. “We were starting to get worried - nobody’s heard word one from you all week. Are you okay? Where are you living? And why did you quit the Diner? Debbie’s been railing about that every time I’ve seen her.”

 

“Why don’t you let the boy get a word in edgewise, Lindz, and maybe he’ll answer you,” Mel laughed with an amused look aimed at my tall blonde inquisitor. “Come on in, Justin, and make yourself at home.”

 

“I hope it’s not too late?” I asked as I let Mel womanhandle me further into the comfortable and cozy home. “Hey there, Gus. How’s my favorite not-quite-two-year-old?”

 

The toddler giggled when I poked a finger into his belly to tickle him and then reached up with both arms in a silent plea for me to hold him. Of course, I couldn’t say no to that sweet little gamin. So I sat down in a spare dining chair and let Lindsey deposit her son in my lap. 

 

“I’m sure Gus is better now that his favorite babysitter is here,” Lindsey assured me. “And of course it’s not too late. We’re just setting up for the party tomorrow.”

 

“You will be there, won’t you?” Mel asked pointedly. 

 

“Actually, I have other plans.” While I made sure Gus wasn’t going to topple over, cinching my left arm securely around the boy’s belly, I reached down with my free hand and pulled the gift wrapped bottle of wine out of my messenger bag. “But I wanted to stop by and give you this. Happy Anniversary, guys.”

 

“You didn’t have to bring us anything,” Lindsey insisted politely as Mel accepted the bottle.

 

“Lindsey is right,” Mel chimed in. “This is sweet, but the present we’d rather receive is you, celebrating with us, at our party tomorrow.”

 

“I . . . I can’t. Sorry.” 

 

I offered up an awkward smile as I shifted Gus back towards Lindsey and scrambled to get to my own feet. All I really wanted was to get out of there at that point. These women that I’d once felt so comfortable around - comfortable enough to go to when I needed career advice, a shoulder to cry on, or even a couch to sleep on for the night - suddenly seemed almost like strangers to me. I was unsure how to act around them. I’d never had a boyfriend before, let alone one I’d broken up with, so I just didn’t have any clue how to deal with the redistribution of former friends after leaving Brian. I guess I just assumed that, since I had been the transgressor, I didn’t have a right to keep any of these people as my friends. And instead of feeling comfortable in the familiar surroundings that had once seemed so welcoming, I felt like an intruder.

 

“I should go. I hope your party is a success. See you around,” I mumbled a quick goodbye as I backed away towards the door.

 

“Where are you going? You just got here,” Mel complained, rushing to intercept me before I could make good my retreat.

 

“Um . . . Ethan’s waiting for me,” I explained as I pointed towards the door. 

 

“Why don’t you invite him in?” Lindsey interrupted, moving around me to add her body to the barricade formed between me and the door by Mel. “Better yet, bring him along to the party tomorrow.”

 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea . . .”

 

“If you’re worried about running into Brian, forget it,” Mel declared. “You know Brian - this is the last place he’ll be. He detests parties.”

 

“Unless there’s an orgy involved,” Lindsey joked.

 

That got me smiling at last because, yeah, we all knew Brian’s opinions on things like Anniversary Parties. 

 

“It isn’t just that,” I spoke up, trying to explain myself. “I . . . I figured it would just be easier on you guys if I wasn’t around. I don’t want to force myself into the middle of things, you know?”

 

“Where’d you come up with that bullshit?” Mel shook her head and smiled at me like an indulgent, foul-mouthed, aunt. 

 

“You were HIS friends first.”

 

“But you’re our friend too, Justin,” Lindsey spoke up. “We love you the same as him.”

 

“If not more,” Mel interjected with her own wry sense of humor. 

 

“So, why don’t you hold on to that bottle of wine . . . And give it to us at the party?” Lindsey insisted as Mel attempted to shove the gift back into my hands.

 

For the first time since I’d walked out of the Rage party the week before, I felt like something in my life was the same. There WAS some stable ground underneath me. Not EVERYTHING had changed. I smiled at these two women who had become friends to me over the previous two years and let my relief show. 

 

And I was just about to accept their invitation when there was a knock on the door behind me. 

 

“That’s probably Ethan, wondering what happened to me,” I explained. 

 

Mel stepped over and pulled the door open. “Hello. You must be Ethan, right? Well, get your ass in here so we can get a good look at you.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” Ethan seemed surprised to find himself being towed into the house by a complete stranger.

 

“Please come in. We’re so glad to finally meet you,” Lindsey took over the introductions. “I’m Lindsey and that’s my wife, Melanie. Oh, and this is our son, Gus.” She bounced the baby on her hip sufficiently to get a giggle out of him, but it didn’t engender the smile she expected from Ethan, who seemed a bit shell shocked. “So, can you stay a while? We’d love to get to know you a little better. We can’t have Justin dating just anyone, you know?” 

 

Lindsey was joking, of course, but it appeared that Ethan didn’t understand the humor. His return smile was pinched and obviously insincere. I felt him reaching for my hand and then subtly tugging me backwards along with him. It didn’t look like we were going to be staying. 

 

“Thanks, but we have to go,” Ethan answered brusquely.

 

“We’re meeting some friends of Ethan’s for drinks,” I offered in explanation, trying to soften my boyfriend’s harsh reaction a little.

 

“Oh. That’s too bad,” Lindsey responded, genuinely upset that she wouldn’t get to interrogate the new beau. “But that’s okay. You can come with Justin to the party tomorrow, right? We can talk more then.”

 

I was just about to turn to Ethan and explain that the girls had talked me into coming to the party after all, adding the reassurance that Brian wouldn’t be there, when my new boyfriend spoke out and answered for me. 

 

“Sorry, ladies. We can’t make it. I’ve got a performance tomorrow and Justin’s working,” Ethan stated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. 

 

“You’re working? I thought you quit the Diner?” Mel enquired, quickly seizing on the pertinent fact like the good lawyer she was.

 

“Uh, yeah, Ethan got me a job working for the Carnegie Hall catering service,” I explained, leaving out the part about how my shift didn’t start till about four hours after the girls’ party was scheduled to end. “The PIFA orchestra is performing in conjunction with the Pittsburgh Philharmonic. Ethan is first chair violin and even has a solo.”

 

“A soloist? Wow. That sounds impressive,” Mel graciously offered.

 

“I used to go to the symphony all the time with my parents when I was a child. They still have season tickets,” Lindsey added, although anyone that knew her well could tell she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the topic and was only saying what she had to be polite. “They’ll probably be there to hear you tomorrow.”

 

“Great. I promise to put on the best show for them that I can manage,” Ethan responded with the first glint of interest I’d seen from him since he entered the house. “So, you understand, there’s no way we can be at your party. We appreciate the invitation though.” Ethan gave the girls his usual killer smile and pulled at my hand a little harder. “You ready to go, Babe? We’re going to be late if we don’t get a move on.”

 

“Sure.” I resisted his pull long enough to shoot the girls one last apologetic smile. “Sorry about the party.”

 

“We’ll miss you but it’s understandable if you’re just starting a new job,” Mel answered, giving me an easy out. “Don’t be a stranger though, you hear? We expect a call every now and then.”

 

“And don’t forget, you still owe us a night of babysitting,” Lindsey added, leaning in to give me a hug before Ethan could get me all the way out the door. 

 

“I won’t forget. Just call and let me know when you need me,” I promised. “Hope the party turns out well. Sorry I can’t make it. Talk to you guys later.”

 

I’d had to yell the last few words over my shoulder as I trotted along at Ethan’s side down the walk. He seemed rather determined to get me out of there as fast as possible. I didn't know what had spooked him, but it was clear that Ethan wanted to get away from the girls as fast as he could. At the time it didn’t make any sense - what was so threatening about two lesbians and a baby? Ethan, though, was walking so fast that I was having a tough time keeping up with him and didn’t have time to question him about it. 

 

However, we really did have someplace we were supposed to have been that night. Ethan was taking me to meet more of his musician friends at a house party off campus. Since we didn’t have a car it took us a while to get to the place and, judging by the lights and noise coming out of the house, the party was well underway before we arrived. Everyone seemed thrilled to see Ethan as we made our way into the thick of the throng. He got hugs and kisses from pretty much every person we passed. I was momentarily forgotten, at least until we got into the living room and were handed drinks. 

 

“Everyone, I’d like you all to meet the man of my dreams,” Ethan announced with all due pomposity. “This vision on two legs,” he stood back and gestured towards me with a dramatic flourish, “is the inestimable Justin Taylor.” 

 

The crowd around us all smiled and laughed, a few of them nodding approvingly. Personally, I felt like a zoo exhibit on display as they all sized me up. Ever since the bashing I’d had this lingering dislike of crowds, and especially of crowds that were all focused on me. Situations like this were particularly difficult and I could feel my anxiety level rising. Meanwhile Ethan, completely oblivious to my predicament, seemed to be happily soaking up the attention and approbation he was getting from displaying me to his fawning public. But he kept smiling on me with so much pride lighting up his features that I felt compelled to fight back against my nervousness. So I plastered on what I hoped was an acceptable smile and tried to pretend I cared about their names as Ethan introduced everyone to me.

 

As soon as they were all satisfied with their examinations of me, the talk quickly turned back to musician stuff and I was essentially forgotten. At first I was glad that I was no longer being singled out as the primary object of everyone’s attention, but pretty soon I found myself getting bored. The group around Ethan spent a good fifteen minutes or so discussing another violinist, Marta, and weighing her performance during a recent competition. How they could spend so much time and mental energy talking about such esoteric shit completely escaped me. I suppose I’d have viewed things differently if they were discussing painting, but since I knew nothing about musical composition or technique, I had a hard time focusing on the conversation. Eventually the discussion devolved to merely dissing the poor girl - who had apparently been eliminated from the ranks of the competitors - and I discovered exactly how petty musicians could be. Ethan’s remarks were especially cutting and dismissive, but since I didn’t know this Marta, I wasn’t sure whether or not the rancor was merited.

 

Either way, by that point I was so utterly bored I was hoping that the floor would open up and swallow me whole. 

 

Seeing as Ethan was completely caught up in the conversation, I was eventually able to make a quiet excuse and scuttle off to an unoccupied corner of the front porch to have a smoke. The rush of nicotine through my bloodstream helped steady my nerves a little, but I still felt like making a run for it. I couldn’t imagine a scene I wanted to be in less than the one I was forced to endure right then. Of course I wasn’t even allowed that one little moment of peace to myself, though. 

 

“Having fun?” Ethan asked, coming up behind me without warning, slipping his arms around my waist and gripping the porch railing with both hands, as if to cage me in place.

 

“Yeah. It’s great,” I lied, not even bothering to look at him as I replied.

 

“Liar.”

 

I was obviously going to have to do a better job with my insincere prevarications. “No, your friends are really smart and funny. I guess I’m just . . . nervous, that’s all.” 

 

“Don’t be,” Ethan insisted, reaching up to run his hands through my hair and ending with his fingers curled in a half-nelson vice grip to the back of my neck. “You’re with me. They’re all jealous.”

 

I let him pull me around into a long, possessive kiss that almost quelled my disquiet.

 

Before things could get too heated, though, we were interrupted by the arrival of yet another of Ethan’s acquaintances. “So, this is the imaginary boyfriend?” I looked up to see a rather plain man, a little older than Ethan, with unruly, long, curly auburn hair and an urbane demeanor that seemed to scream ‘pompous nerd’. “Well, you’re definitely better looking than his last obsession. How long did that one last? A month? Two?” The guy looked over at Ethan with a teasing smile and a little laugh as if to indicate he didn’t mean anything by the barb. Then the noob redirected his attention back to me. “So, Ethan tells me you’re an artist.”

 

“Yep. That’s right,” I answered, glad that somebody seemed to finally be taking an interest in me for something other than how decorative I was. 

 

“So, what kind of stuff do you do?” Friend Guy asked.

 

“Lately, I’ve been manipulating classical forms using digital imagery,” I explained succinctly, wondering at the same time if the guy had any background in art at all. 

 

Apparently not, since my explanation didn’t seem to spark any real interest in him at all; instead he just gave me this smarmy grin and elevator-eyed me. “Hmm. It seems you’re not just a pretty face after all.”

 

For some reason, that particular comment got to me like nothing else and, for a moment or two, I felt a familiar spark of anger urging me to respond, “No. I’ve got a pretty big cock as well. And I give one hell of a blow job. Right, Ethan?”

 

The flirty little flip of my head as I spoke the words did nothing to placate my boyfriend, who immediately flushed red with embarrassment. 

 

“Um . . .” He took my hand and started to guide me off to the other side of the porch with a quick, “Excuse us for a minute, Rory.” As soon as we were far enough away to have a private word, though, Ethan turned on me angrily. “What the fuck was that about, huh?”

 

“What? The guy was an ass, Ethan. He was ogling me like I was a piece of meat. I wasn’t going to let him get away with that shit,” I hissed back just as heatedly. 

 

“These people are my friends and colleagues, Justin. I have to work with them every day. You can’t go around insulting them like that.”

 

“Yeah? But it’s okay if they insult me, huh?”

 

“I don’t think what he was saying was insulting. All Rory did was complement you and comment on how beautiful you are. Which, I happen to agree with, for what it’s worth.”

 

“But you’re my boyfriend, Ethan. You’re allowed to say that kind of shit. Total strangers aren't.”

 

“Come on, Justin. He didn’t mean anything by it,” Ethan maintained. “And even if he did, there’s got to be a more appropriate way for you to respond than to spout off with vulgarities and totally embarrass me like that. I have a reputation to maintain, Babe, and I can’t have my boyfriend, of all people, undermining me that way. You need to learn to control your temper, Justin.”

 

While I kinda understood why Ethan might be a little ticked at me for laying into his friend like I had, I hated the condescending tone he was using as he lectured me. I was also pretty miffed that he wasn’t standing up for me and that he seemed okay with his friend’s demeaning approach. The old Justin probably would have just stormed out of there after being talked down to like that. But the new Justin was still feeling raw and unsure of himself. So I clamped my lips shut and swallowed the retort that wanted to come out. I’d already let my temper and sense of personal outrage ruin one relationship that week, I didn’t need to tank what I had with Ethan too. Maybe he was right and I really did need to get a better grip on my combative tendencies?

 

So I took a deep breath, forced the comeback that was on the tip of my tongue back down, and said nothing.

 

Ethan kissed me again, this time with a little extra force, as if he were trying to make a point, and then led me back inside to the heart of the party.

 

And I was good little boy for the next forty minutes or so. I kept a tight hold on my snarky tongue and fought against the urges that kept trying to compel me to say something negative. I let Ethan lead me around and show me off like a prize hog at the fair without comment. I even smiled when appropriate and answered when comments were directed my way, as infrequently as that happened. All of which seemed to please Ethan, who eventually loosened up and seemed to start enjoying himself more and more with every beer he consumed. 

 

Finally, though, I could take it no more. 

 

“Zing, Ethan, zing!” Ethan was relating some story to yet another admiring group of listeners when I came up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder. 

 

“Hey, I’m going to take off, okay?”

 

“What? Already?”

 

“Yeah, I’m beat,” I offered as an excuse.

 

I could tell that Ethan was less than enthused with the idea of leaving so soon but he still offered. “All right. I’ll go with you.”

 

“No. No, you can stay here. I’m just going to go home and crash. I’ll see you at home later,” I suggested, almost desperate to get some alone time by that point. 

 

“You sure?”

 

“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded and gave him my best reassuring smile. 

 

“Okay.” He relented too easily, obviously eager to get back to his friends. Of course, he still had to make a production of my leaving early, pulling me closer and proclaiming loudly enough that half the room would hear, “Love you, Babe.”

 

“You too,” I answered, a lot less fervently. 

 

But since he seemed unconvinced, I made a point of leaning in to offer a lusty kiss before I scampered off. 

  
  


I remember what a relief it was to get back to Ethan’s ratty little apartment and finally have a couple hours to myself. It felt like I hadn’t had more than a minute or two of privacy since before the Rage party fiasco; which meant I really hadn’t completely processed all the recent changes to my life. And huge fucking changes they were, too. Changes that should have necessitated hours and hours of deep contemplation. However, between school, starting a new job, and Ethan dogging my every step, I hadn’t even started. So I was more than grateful to leave Ethan with his friends at the party, hoping they would keep him occupied and out of my hair for a while.

 

Back at the apartment I quickly poured myself a glass of cheap cabernet - the last of a bottle Ethan had opened the night before with dinner - and settled on the couch with Wolfram on my lap. The small, furry, warm body, whose contented purring only enhanced my thought processes, seemed to ground me in a way that I hadn’t experienced in a long, long while. I found myself thinking that the cat was probably the best part of starting a relationship with Ethan, and then I quickly chided myself for being so uncharitable. Ethan had done so much for me and been so understanding about my fucked up life - I really needed to give him more credit. It wasn’t his fault that I was feeling a bit stressed out. Or, at least, not wholly his fault. 

 

The prior week - actually the whole prior month, if I was being honest with myself - had been a total circus. So many highs and lows it was impossible to count. I was still reeling and none of it felt real. 

 

Shit . . . Did I really walk out on Brian, publicly snubbing him in front of hundreds of people, and leave the Rage party with the guy I’d been cheating on him with?

 

Wow! I still couldn’t believe I’d done that. I mean, yeah, I had been pissed off at Brian for ignoring me and refusing to tell me that he cared about me, but to actually LEAVE him? Did I really do that? Seriously? Not to mention the WAY I’d gone about it - walking out on him in the middle of a party he’d shelled out hundreds of dollars for, one meant to help promote a comic book I’d created and which I was still, conceivably, going to profit from. Talk about drama queen moments, right? 

 

Did I just make the worst mistake of my life?

 

Sitting there thinking it all through, I realized that I had probably blown things completely out of proportion. Brian hadn’t actually DONE anything to me - well, except for that little scene at the loft where he’d worked me all up and then rejected me when he smelled Ethan on me. That was probably my fault though, since I had broken our rules and was, in effect, cheating on him. And, yes, he’d pissed me off - hell, I was still pissed off at him, to be honest - but we’d fought before and still managed to work things out. Why had I overreacted so much this time? What the fuck was I doing? Did I REALLY want to abandon everything that Brian and I had fought so hard to build just like that? 

 

Of course, the difference between this fight and all the previous fights was Ethan. I’d never before had any other love interest that might intervene when Brian and I were fighting. I’d never even known someone like Ethan before. He was everything Brian was not; Ethan was sappy and romantic and ostentatious in his love for me. He was possessive in a way I’d been craving for a long time. And he was appreciative of me in a very vocal way. Maybe too appreciative and possessive, actually.

 

In thinking back over the evening, I found myself being more than a little annoyed by the way Ethan had been acting. Yeah, he’d been very happy to introduce me to all his friends, but sometimes it had felt like he was merely showing me off - bragging on me like he did about all the other competitions he’d won. I didn’t like feeling like arm candy for Ethan. Which was strange because that’s what everyone had always teased me about being when I was with Brian and it had never bothered me then - I’d just laughed about it and used it to tease Brian about his age. But while Brian had played along with the joking, Ethan seemed to take matters so much more seriously. Maybe that’s why I resented it more when the subject came up around Ethan. 

 

Or maybe I was just being way too judgmental. I mean, Ethan had just turned his OWN life upside down for me. He’d taken me in when I didn’t have anywhere to go, had helped me find a job after Michael made it clear I wasn’t needed at the Diner any longer, and had repeatedly told me how much he loved me and how happy he was that we were now officially together. And he’d been so nice to me, so understanding about all I was going through with Brian. He seemed like the first person I’d met - other than Daphne - who really understood me. 

 

“What do you think, Wolfram?” I asked my furry lap warmer. “I’m probably just being a bitch, right? I mean, Ethan has been great to me so far and he’s so outspoken about how much he loves me. I need to stop being so crabby all the time. I guess I’m just not used to hearing my boyfriend SAY he loves me all the time, which is, no doubt, why I’m doubting him . . .”

 

Wolfram and I might have had further discussions on the subject if left to ourselves, but that happened to be when Ethan arrived home. He sauntered in, bringing the scent of the springtime rain, which had just started outside, with him. He leaned down to kiss my cheek as he passed. It felt so nice to be acknowledged like that, that I immediately shoved my prior annoyance down. This was the relationship that I’d wanted - the one that I’d chosen - and I wasn’t going to start rethinking it now that I was already committed. It was time for me to grow up and stop yearning after something that it seemed I never really had anyway.

 

“So, how was the rest of the party?” I asked as soon as Ethan joined me and Wolfram on the sofa. 

 

“Totally tedious. If I had to listen to Victor moan about his Heiffitz performance for another minute I was going to slit my wrists right then and there.” Then he reached out to run his fingers through Wolfram’s long fur and asked, “and what have you two boys been up to here without me?”

 

“Nothing much. Just enjoying some cat therapy. It’s amazing how calming it is to just sit around with a pussy on your lap.”

 

“I didn’t know you were so into ‘pussy’,” Ethan teased, leaning over to shoulder bump me in a friendly, familiar way. “No wonder you’re friends with those two lesbians. I think I better keep you away from them from here on out.”

 

We both laughed at the ridiculous notion, even though I still wasn’t happy about bugging out on the girls’ party the next day. “I promise, I’m not interested in them for THAT. But I really do think I should at least make an appearance at their party. I would hate for it to get back to them that I wasn’t being completely honest about having to miss the party because of work. Mel and Lindsey have been good friends to me and I really should support them . . .”

 

However, I didn’t even get to voice my full argument in favor of going to the party before Ethan interrupted me. “Justin . . . *sigh* . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go to that damn party. You need to make a clean break from that whole group and dragging it out is only going to make it harder for you. I mean, let’s face it, those people aren’t really YOUR friends. They were his friends first and no matter what you think they will always be HIS friends. I don’t want to see you hurt by running after their affection like this and then getting slammed when you find out they’re always going to take your ex’s side over yours.” Ethan pushed Wolfram off my lap so he could scoot over and take me in his arms. “You know you can’t trust them, Babe. No matter what they say, they’ll be loyal to HIM, not you. You know this, right? Isn’t it better to just move on and make a new life for yourself? What good does it do to hang on to something that’s obviously over?” 

 

Ethan sounded so sincere. He sounded like he really was worried about me being hurt. And he made it seem so plausible that, no matter how much my old friends might claim that they still wanted to maintain a relationship with me, they would end up taking sides. It made perfect sense when Ethan said it like that. I didn’t want to get hurt even more, did I? So, even though I retained lingering doubts - and a deep desire not to lose the friends that had come to mean so much to me over the prior two years - I figured Ethan must be right. I should just cut my losses, move on, and make some new friends and a new life. 

 

When I finally shrugged, indicating that I accepted Ethan’s decision that I not go to the girls’ party, he kissed my temple, gave my shoulder a satisfied squeeze and added, “good. I’m glad that’s settled. Now I don’t have to worry about you getting hurt or that bastard trying to use your old friends to win you back. Because from here on out, you’re all MINE. Right?”

 

And I just smiled at him weakly, trying to convince myself that Ethan’s kind of love was endearing and not just overly possessive, as he led me off to the bed where he proceeded to make love to me until I forgot all my potential protests. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/1/18 - I wish I could just jump ahead a write the better parts I have planned for the end of this story... LOL. TAG

**Author's Note:**

> 7/5/18 - It seems like I can't find my usual light-hearted, sexy summer vibe this year. Everything around me seems mired in tension and disquiet. So, instead of fighting it, I guess I'll embrace the mood and write my heart. If you're a fan of angst, this one should be right up your alley. And remember, I've never yet written a story that doesn't have a happy ending, no matter how dark the story might get at it's worst... TAG
> 
> PS - Too distracted to make a banner yet, so if anyone wants to help out and take a stab at it for me, I'd be endlessly grateful! 


End file.
